


The Lion's Den

by Arcawolf



Series: The Lion's Den [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captivity, Complete, Emotional Manipulation, Hope vs. Despair, Kidnapping, Multi, Psychological Horror, So much despair, Stockholm Syndrome, What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-29 12:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 111
Words: 356,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcawolf/pseuds/Arcawolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Killing Game, Komaeda realizes he has no choice but to bring the Ultimate Hope under his care. The world has become a very dangerous place after all, and there's no way he can allow Naegi Makoto's light to blink out.</p><p>(Komaeda decides to shelter/adopt/kidnap a terrified Naegi, and Ultimate Despair is a poor host)</p><p>Only follows canon from the first game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> As noted in the tags, this story only follows canon from the first game. So things like Komaeda serving the Warriors of Hope don't apply here.

The execution was over, and so was the world.

Enoshima was dead. They, her faithful warriors of Ultimate Despair, had watched with disbelief and denial as that boy – _Naegi_ –drove her right into the grave. Even after the block slammed down for the final time, they hadn’t believed it. They’d expected Enoshima to pop right back up, and laugh at the despair on her classmates’ faces.

But she hadn’t. Enoshima was dead and with her, the world had broken.

Tsumiki screamed the loudest. Her cry, the shrill wail of someone who’d lost both their heart and soul in an instant, bounced off the walls and shook the ground. Other howls rose to join her. Of them, only Kuzuryu’s seemed to be actual words. The rest of the cries were simple, animalistic shrieks of pain. They knew their behaviour was echoed in their other bases, where their comrades would have been watching the same broadcast. The very thought, the overwhelming despair it caused, brought then both anguish and delirious joy.

But while most of Ultimate Despair was revelling in their agony, there were a few exceptions. Pekoyama, white-knuckled and pale-faced, was silent, more focused on her young master than what she had just seen. Kamukura watched the others with mild interest. And Komaeda . . . Komaeda had crawled up to the television, and laid his hand lovingly against its screen.

The television’s camera was locked onto the trial room, where the six survivors were regrouping after their victory. Komaeda only had eyes for one of them and with unhealthy focus, he watched that small, brown-haired figure as he spoke to his classmates. What the figure said, he didn’t know for certain as the broadcast audio had cut out when Enoshima died; but he could make an educated guess. And so, Komaeda nearly pressed his face flat against the glass to better lip-read Hope’s inaudible words.

Hope. _Ultimate_ Hope. His wheeze shivered with quiet laughter. This had been the reason he’d joined Enoshima (because how could one create hope without despair?) and it had finally come to fruition. The Ultimate Despair had fallen, and from her ashes, the Ultimate Hope rose!

He felt so many things. Grief. Anger. Joy. Rapture. He had loved and hated Enoshima, just as he loved and maybe hated these students for killing her (but not Hope. Never Hope). It all swirled and clashed together in a medley that made him ill. But that was okay, because that fusion of euphoria and misery was one of the prices of creating great hope.

The six survivors began walking off-screen and Komaeda watched them greedily. Part of him was ashamed – what right he have to spy on these talented people? – but he couldn’t help it. His soul roared with yearning. Oh, how he wished Enoshima had brought him along instead of her sister! He could have breathed the same air as the Ultimate Hope, laid his eyes upon the Ultimate Hope . . . why, he could have _died_ for the Ultimate Hope. How delightful would that be?

He followed the Ultimate Hope with his finger until he could no longer be seen. The boy ( _Naegi Makoto_ , purred the voice in his mind) had been the last of his classmates to leave, leaving the room lifeless. Komaeda kept staring. Now that Hope was gone, he felt empty inside.

“What are you doing?”

Komaeda’s head nearly rolled backwards to see who was speaking. Kamukura was looming above his crouched form, frowning.

Komaeda bit back a giggle. “Did you see that? The birth of _Hope_? I wonder what he’ll do now.”

Kamukura sighed. “That’s your only question? Obviously, a rescue team from The Future Foundation is already on their way. The survivors will join them.”

 “The Future Foundation,” Komaeda muttered to himself. His insides curled with disgust. The Future Foundation. . . They’d nearly broken into the academy a few times. Why, if allowed, they would have interfered with the mutual killing game before the Ultimate Hope could have been born!

Komaeda’s nails dug into his arms as he clung to himself. He couldn’t . . .  how could he . . . he wouldn’t let such remarkable hope fall into their unworthy hands! It was his duty to hope, to the world, (to the master who’d _died_ for this ending). He, the unworthy servant, could finally find his proper place.

“Hey, Kamukura-kun . . . I think I just came up with another plan.”

“Good. These past weeks have been extremely boring.”

Komaeda smiled dreamily. Ah, his path was clearly laid out in front of him. He knew what he had to do.

After all, no one else in the world understood hope as well as him.


	2. The Saviour

Something was wrong.

Naegi couldn’t hear anything strange and nothing hurt, but it occurred to him that was the strange part. Usually, he’d wake up and find his muscles laced with a tiredness borne of exertion and lack of food. Even weirder was that his hunger pains were relatively mild. He remembered their last meal, and it hadn’t been a big one.

“Hey, are you awake?”

Naegi paused. He didn’t know that voice. It took a few blinks before he cleared the grime in his eyes enough to see. Someone was staring down at him; a pale, skinny guy with unruly white hair and a green hoodie Naegi instantly admired. The stranger seemed to be around his age, and he smiled at Naegi as if they’d known each other for years.

“How are you feeling?” the stranger asked. “If you need to go back to sleep, I’ll stop talking.”

“No, I-I’m fine.” The tremor in his voice surprised him. He’d thought he was okay, but now that he tried to turn his head, his body felt weak and heavy. It was like he’d been hiking up a mountain beforehand, only his brain was unable to register the actual physical sensation of being exhausted.

As he lay there, he saw past the stranger’s face to the black backdrop above. Was that . . . a ceiling? An undamaged one at that, too?

What had happened?

“Where am I?” Naegi asked.

The stranger smiled at him gently. “Somewhere safe.”

The answer didn’t register right away. An unexpected wave of drowsiness had tried to weigh his eyelids down. With nothing but will, Naegi pushed back, tensing his body in an attempt to get his energy up. Only when that succeeded could he focus on what the stranger had said.

Safe . . . He’d always known he and his friends would find somewhere, but he hadn’t imagined it happening this way. He tried to push himself up to look around, but the bed – oh, he was on a bed – was softer than expected. His arms sunk right into the mattress. Had this stranger brought him here and tucked him in?

This time, he succeeded at turning his head and found the rest of the stranger’s figure. Originally, he’d noted that the stranger was skinny. After seeing more than his face though, Naegi had to revise that statement. The stranger was _more_ than skinny; Naegi was pretty sure that collarbones shouldn’t stick out that much. The white shirt under the stranger’s green hoodie hung off his frame sadly. Combing those two things with the stranger’s pallor made him look rather sickly to Naegi’s untrained eyes. Maybe this stranger was having trouble finding food, too.

It made it that much more impressive that this person had apparently assisted in saving him and his friends. Naegi said, “I don’t know if you’re the one who rescued me, but thank you. I’m Naegi Makoto.”

“I know. We all saw the broadcast.” The stranger closed his eyes, expression settling into something nearing bliss. “It was inspiring.”

. . . Not the word he would have used, but the stranger must have had good intentions by it.

“What’s your name?”

“My name?” The stranger said that uncertainly, testing the phrase as it were another language. “You don’t need to worry about things like that.”

What? That didn’t make much sense. “Of course I do. It’d be pretty rude if I kept calling you ‘that guy’ or something.”

“You can call me whatever you want, Naegi-kun,” the stranger said flippantly. “However, if you really want to know, my name is Komaeda Nagito.”

Naegi smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Komaeda-kun.”

Shortly after, however, his smile faded. Naegi was reasonably confident that he was uninjured, and Komaeda seemed nice, but it was just them in this room . . . This room that eerily resembled his old dorm back in Hope’s Peak Academy. If it hadn’t been for the lack of windows and obvious cameras, he might have thought they were back there.

He didn’t like it.

That was beside the point, however. The real problem was there was only Komaeda and him, and not a single sign of any of his friends.

“Komaeda-kun, are my friends okay? They should have been with me when . . .”

Come to think of it, how had he gotten here? He remembered leaving Hope’s Peak with the others, and spending days navigating the maze of wreckage that had once been a city. Yet he couldn’t recall running into Komaeda or anyone else that was friendly. He definitely couldn’t remember agreeing to go anywhere with strangers.  Surely, if he had been sleeping when his friends were talking about that, Kirigiri or Asahina would have woken him.

The last thing he remembered . . . hadn’t he been talking to Hagakure?

“I don’t know what they’re doing right now,” Komeda said, “but if something bad had happened to any of them, I’m sure everyone would know by now. They’re definitely not dead if that’s what you’re thinking.”

That hadn’t even crossed his mind. He’d just assumed they were alive. Maybe hurt, but definitely alive. He’d assumed everything would work out –

_Just like how you could stop your friends from killing each other, right?_

He knew his sudden panic showed. He quickly rolled over to hide it. They . . . no . . . this was different. He trusted them – okay, nothing about that was different – but his friends also trusted each other (even Togami, though he’d never admit it), and that’s why he could be confident this time.

“You alright, Naegi-kun?”

Yes, he was. He turned back over. “Yeah, I’m fine. But, uh, Komaeda-kun, where are my friends?”

An unnatural stillness swept over Komaeda’s body. It was like a video that had accidently paused. “Ah, sorry, Naegi-kun.”

“You don’t know?”

“I stayed in this room until you woke up, so I’m not up to date with what’s going on. Not like they think I need to be kept informed anyways. . .”

“It’s okay, Komaeda-kun!” Naegi blurted out, disliking the self-deprecating tone the other boy was using. “It was really nice of you to wait for me. I probably would have freaked out if I had woken up alone, so thank you.”

Komaeda gave him a curious stare, like Naegi was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. “If you say so. There’s no need to keep thanking me, though. Or thank me at all.”

Before Naegi could say anything about that, Komaeda stood up and spoke. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll ask around and see if anyone knows something.”

“Thank you.” With Komaeda’s promise, Naegi’s worry melted. He was sure Komaeda would take care of things. He waved as the white-haired boy walked over to the door.

The door shut, and Komaeda was gone.

Time to investigate.

The first time he sat up, the room tilted at an impossible angle. He had to lie back down and shut his eyes until his head stopped pounding. He must have moved too fast. The next time he sat up, he did so slowly and used the bedframe to support himself.

The carpet was cold against his bare feet. That was the first time he noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes or socks. He checked himself quickly. The rest of his clothes were the same ones he remembered wearing last. That said, they were wrinkled and in need of a good wash (someone had thoughtfully left a change of clothes on a table). He knew he needed to bathe, too; showers hadn’t been easy to find outside the academy.

He drank in the room. While the coloring was off, it was clear that someone had put a lot of effort into modeling it after his dorm. If he had to guess, he would say they decorated it this way so it would be familiar to him . . . he wished they hadn’t. The more he thought about his old dorm, the more the walls of his new one seemed to close in and trap him inside. He comforted himself by thinking about the differences: the wallpaper was more of a purplish-pink; the room didn’t have an alcove for the exit; the furniture was of the same type and amount, but it definitely wasn’t the same brand.

There were two doors leading out of the room. One, the door Komaeda had left through, was directly across from him and the bed. The other door lay upon the wall to the left of it.

He decided to peek through that door, and was immediately glad he had. Whoever had decorated this room may have been able to import furniture like what they had at Hope’s Peak, but they hadn’t been able to switch the plumbing. He saw both a bathtub and a showerhead above it, separated from the rest of the bathroom by a translucent curtain. The toilet and sink were completely ordinary. It was a stark contrast to the bathroom from Hope’s Peak, and he welcomed that.

Even the short trek to the washroom made him want to sit down (he had no idea why he was so tired). He leaned against the sink, and pulled back his sleeves. During his days in the ruins, his bad luck had been determined to make up for letting him escape the Killing Game. He’d picked up quite the collection of small cuts and wounds.

Surprisingly - well actually, it wasn’t much of a surprise anymore - it looked like they had been cleaned. He wouldn’t say it was a professional job, but it looked neater and more experienced than what Asahina had been able to scrap together. Not that he was complaining about her work. She’d done the best with what meagre supplies they had.

The water briefly ran brown as he washed his hands. He grabbed a towel and cleaned off his face, too. Unfortunately, his hair wasn’t going to get any better with plain water. He thought about taking a shower, especially once he looked at his reflection, but he didn’t want Komaeda to wait for him if he came back during that time. Besides, he’d already gone days wearing these same clothes. Another hour or two wouldn’t kill him.

Aware of how dirty he was, Naegi was now reluctant to touch any of the furniture. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the bedroom, curling his toes into the blue carpet. There was no clock in the room, so he had no idea how long Komaeda had been gone. He didn’t even know if it was daytime.

Time passed. He leaned against the desk for support. He grew bored. He thought about his friends, thoughts light and easy. He bet Kirigiri had already figured out exactly where they were and who these people were. Togami had probably bullied someone into giving him all the answers. He wasn’t sure what Asahina or Fukawa was doing, but he knew they would be relived to finally be out of the rubble. And Hagakure was probably still asleep.

Eventually, his thoughts ran dry. Komaeda still hadn’t returned. He rocked back and forth on his heels, eyeing the door out of the room.

Well, as long as he really didn’t go anywhere, there couldn’t be any harm in looking outside. He walked over to the door and turned the knob –

Locked.

He stopped, confused. He tried again, just to be sure. Sure enough, the doorknob rattled and refused to turn. There didn’t seem to be a lock he could undo. The door must have been locked from the other side.

 _Guess he was worried that I would wander off. Or he forgot that the door was locked_. This was . . . odd. But Komaeda hadn’t given him any reason to worry yet, and Naegi trusted him. There must have been a good reason.

That said, now he had nothing to do. Naegi looked down at his dirty clothes, looked at the clean room, then sighed and pulled the chair out from the desk. Hopefully, whoever cleaned this place up would forgive him.


	3. The Truth

Somewhere during his waiting, sleep took him. His fleeting dreams were filled with hazy images and incoherent words.  In his dreams, his world was filled not with comfort and light, but with fear and a nameless dread that bled into reality, so that he woke with a gasp and his skin icy cold. Komaeda, to his semiconscious brain, looked like a walking corpse as he hovered by the doorway.  

“Sorry, Naegi-kun. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Komaeda said. He was holding a tray. “I brought you dinner.”

Naegi nodded shakily. That sense of impending doom still hadn’t left him, and looking at Komaeda made him taste bile.

Komaeda walked over and placed the tray on the desk before him. The smell immediately erased any thoughts of dread. How . . . how had he gotten all this food? Full meals weren’t just lying around during the apocalypse. Yet on the tray before him lay a bowl of rich-smelling soup, some kind of meat upon a vegetable bed, and bread on the side. It was fresh too; steam was rising from its surface. Just . . . _how_?

“I wasn’t able to find out too much about your tastes, but I promise you’ll like it,” Komaeda said. “It was made by the Ultimate Chef himself.”

Ultimate Chef? He took a closer look at Komaeda.

“Komaeda-kun, you’re an Ultimate, too, aren’t you?”

“Ultimate Lucky Student to be exact. Not that luck’s much of a talent. Still, I’m glad I got to study alongside such amazing classmates!”

“I know!” Naegi exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. “I can’t remember going to school with them, but working alongside people like Kirigiri-san and Togami-kun was incredible! I still have trouble wrapping my head around how smart Kirigiri-san is.”

Komaeda laughed. He looked like he wanted to reach down and ruffle Naegi’s hair. “Naegi-kun, you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re the Ultimate Hope. You belong with people like them.”

Naegi gave a half-hearted shrug, resorting back to the answer he always gave. “I’m just really optimistic, that’s all.”

 “You should eat your dinner.” Was it him, or did Komaeda’s smile stretch a little too wide?

At Komaeda’s urging, Naegi brought a spoonful of soup to his lips . . . wow. _Wow_. He couldn’t say anything else. Just _wow_.

“This is amazing!” he gushed, barely swallowing in time.

“He is the Ultimate Chef,” Komaeda reminded him. “Still, I’m sure he’s never been complimented by someone as extraordinary as the Ultimate Hope!”

Naegi frowned. “You know that title’s not official or anything, right? Kirigiri-san just called me that a few times.”

The look Komaeda gave him suggested that the other boy was certain Naegi was trying to trick him. “And you would doubt the conclusions of the Ultimate Detective?”

Okay. . . That was a good point.

“But it’s not like it means anything. It’s just a title. It’s not important,” Naegi said. He idly stirred his soup, avoiding the other’s eyes.

And in doing that, he missed how Komaeda’s face slackened.

“I’m sorry, Naegi-kun. I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I . . .” Naegi looked up at the other boy, and his words died in his throat. Komaeda was still smiling, but Naegi had heard the emptiness in his voice. And his _eyes_. They were too wide, and the lines in the skin around them sunk too deep.

“Komaeda-kun, are you okay?”

“ _I’m_ okay,” Komaeda said fiercely. Despite himself, Naegi shrunk from his stare. The creeping anxiety from his dreams was whispering in the back of his mind again . . . It was probably just worry. He must still be on edge because he hadn’t seen his friends yet.

“Komaeda-kun, did you find out what happened to the others?”

At least the change in subject peeled that dead expression away. Komaeda exhaled deeply, and stared at a point on the wall. “I asked everyone I could, but no one’s gotten any reports about seeing them.”

Something was off about the way he said that, the words he had chosen. Naegi ran over it a few times in his head. No one had seen them? But that would mean . . .

“Are you saying I’m the only one here?”

“In this building? Yep, you’re the only student from your class.” Komaeda ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to confuse you.”

“If they aren’t here with me, what happened to them?”

“They were fine last time we – well, I - saw them. Still, that was half a week ago, so who knows?" "

Half a week ago . . . how . . .?

And Komaeda was speaking again. "I wonder, without the Ultimate Hope to guide them, has their resolve wavered? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your absence brought your friends despair?”

“What are you saying?” Komaeda must have been joking or something, but it _wasn’t funny_.

“You see it too, don’t you?” Komaeda’s body hardly moved, but he turned violently, like the floor had rotated beneath his feet. “Lost in the wreckage, the surviving Ultimates realize they have lost the brightest light among them and despair. . . But then they rally, hope stronger than ever! It would be beautiful!”

“That . . . That’s not . . .  None of that is beautiful.” He couldn’t remember how or when, but at some point he had gotten to his feet. “It’s terrible! We have to go find them!”

“But Naegi-kun, think about it. Their hope will have to grow so much stronger to compensate for your loss. Imagine what powerful symbols of hope they will become!”

“Stop it!”

What was going on? Why was Komaeda suddenly talking like this and being creepy and where were his friends and why had Naegi been the only to make it here? Who were these people that had saved him and –

What did they want with him?

Naegi had never even thought about that. He’d assumed Komaeda and his allies had rescued him for the sake of rescuing him. And they must have! Why would they give him hot meals and a room if they weren’t the good guys? If they were his enemy, then wouldn’t they have thrown him into a cell or something? No, surely they could be trusted –

But where were his friends? Naegi knew he would never have left any of them. He’d would have gladly subjected himself to a lonely existence in the outside world so they could be where he was now.  And he would never have allowed them to do the same for him. It was him and them, or just them, as far as he was concerned.

He tried to remember. He . . . he was talking to Hagakure and . . . and nothing. Nothing came next. A question mark laid in the spot where another memory should have followed, that and a feeling like ants crawling across his skin. Where were his memories? _Something_ was supposed to be there. He ran over the information he had –

Hold on. Something was wrong.

Naegi said, “You said we saw them half a week ago. That can’t be right. I . . .”

_I don’t remember getting here. I definitely don’t remember being separated from them for that long._

“Nope, that’s right! It was a week ago. You probably don’t remember since you spent most of that time unconscious.”

Unconscious? Automatically, he ran his fingers over his scalp, feeling for a wound. He didn’t think he was injured. Sure, his head hurt, but that was mostly due to his own confusion.

“ . . . Even if you were awake, short-term memory loss is a side effect of the sedatives I was using.”

What.

“I can see you want me to explain. What an honour!” Komaeda didn’t just straighten up. He seemed to unfurl, like a claw sliding out from its sheath. “I suspected you probably wouldn’t cooperate when I tried to bring you here, so I had no choice but to take the matter into my own hands! It’s a good thing I did, too. There’s no way we would have evaded the Ultimate Detective if we had been fighting among ourselves. I’m still in awe of how far she was able to follow us.”

“Komaeda-kun, what do you mean I wouldn’t cooperate? Are you saying I didn’t agree to come here?” That was another possibility that never occurred to Naegi, mostly because _it made no sense_. It was completely illogical that someone would decide to force him to come to a clean, furnished room and then serve him full-course meals.

“I was going to talk to you, but I ran into one of your friends first and they made it really clear what your answer was going to be . . . and it just wouldn’t do.” Komaeda clenched his fist, and brought it up in front of him. “You’re the Ultimate Hope! I couldn’t just leave you there in that world of despair.”

“You . . .”

“Don’t worry, I took good care of you! I gave you first pick of the rations, the blanket, even my own body heat when that wasn’t enough. I made sure you came to no harm. You don’t need to thank me. Nurturing you and your hope is all I’m good for!”

Sweat dotted the back of his neck. He understood. This was why the door had been locked. Komaeda had drugged him, and taken him away from his friends . . . Komaeda hadn’t rescued him. He’d _kidnapped_ him. And the worst part was that he didn’t seem to think he had done anything wrong. He was staring at Naegi with adoring green eyes, hands pressed together in mockery of earnest prayer. It made him sick to his stomach.

“Komaeda-kun, I need to go. My friends need me. I . . . I need to know if they’re okay.” He bit his lip, holding onto hope that Komaeda could be negotiated with. Komaeda was a kidnapper, but he seemed reasonable.

Komaeda stopped smiling. “Naegi-kun, is being separated from your classmates bringing you despair?”

Naegi hesitated. He could almost feel Kirigiri at his shoulder, whispering that this was a trap. “K-kind of?”

A pause. And then Komaeda laughed. It was this scratchy, awful _noise_ that seemed to pain Komaeda even as he kept laughing. It rubbed Naegi’s eardrums raw. Ancient instincts rose to the surface, telling him to get out _now_. For all the horror he’d endured in the academy, he’d never actually felt threatened by the other students.

This was different. This time, he _did_.

“This is fantastic!” Komaeda said. “We’re off to a wonderful start. Already, your hope has a chance to grow stronger. It’s perfect!”

The other boy’s eyes were glazed over, lost in his thoughts.

He was distracted.

Naegi ran. He slammed up against the door and grabbed the knob. It wouldn’t turn.

“I see it,” Komaeda said from somewhere behind him. “The despair that follows you . . . but it pales in comparison to the light of your hope. Come on, Naegi-kun; we can overcome this together!”

He pounded on the door. Somebody had to hear him. They couldn’t all be like him –

Komaeda lunged.

The skinny’s boy weight crashed against his back, pinning him against the door. Thin, long fingers scrabbled at his face, slapping over his mouth. His heart slammed into his ribs, and he twisted and turned in the shaky grip. The other boy was saying something, but Naegi couldn’t hear over the rushing of his blood.

He twisted again. Their balance shifted, and the two tumbled onto the floor. He kicked Komaeda off, rolled onto his stomach and reached for the door–

And Komaeda was on top of him, hand over the back of his skull, pressing his head into the carpet. Komaeda’s knees were flush against his side, trapping one of his arms. In retrospect, it was all meant to subdue rather than hurt, but all Naegi could think about was that Komaeda was bigger and he couldn’t throw him off and he couldn’t breathe . . .

 “Hey, it’s alright. Take a deep breath, okay?”

The parts of him in contact with the other boy shuddered. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want Komaeda touching him. He didn’t understand what Komaeda wanted with him. He wanted to be back with his friends.

He thrashed, but Komaeda managed to keep his position until Naegi had no choice but to calm down. The pattering of his heart slowed into steady, but powerful thumps. His breaths came easier; it no longer felt like Komaeda’s weight was going to suffocate him.

“Naegi-kun.” Komaeda no longer spoke with giddy friendliness or hidden insanity. He was quiet and completely serious, and that’s why Naegi listened. “I know I have no right to demand anything from you, but this is important. You need to be quiet. Talking’s fine, but you can’t go knocking on the door like that. Only a couple of us know you’re here, and if any of the others find out . . . Well, they’ll probably try to kill you.”

This couldn’t be happening.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.” This time, Komaeda did ruffle his hair. “You just have to follow a couple of rules: don’t make too much noise, and don’t leave this room. That’s it! I can take care of everything else.”

Naegi licked his suddenly dry lips. His cheek rubbed against the carpet when his head turned. “Why would they want to hurt me?”

“Revenge. I know, it’s ridiculous. Why anyone would want to avenge the Ultimate Despair is beyond me.”

“Ultimate . . . Are you talking about Enoshima?”

He didn’t need the confirmation. It all came together. He’d been drugged and kidnapped in the middle of the apocalypse by a complete stranger for an undisclosed period of time and reason.  He was being held somewhere also occupied by the allies of the evil mastermind he and his friends had overcome.

Naegi asked, “Wh-what do you want from me?”

 “I just want you to be yourself.”

Komaeda smiled brightly, and it was the most frightening thing he’d ever seen.


	4. The First Night

The closed door seemed to emit an aura of malice. That thin piece of wood was the only thing separating him from Komaeda on the other side, and it couldn’t even lock.  Komaeda had promised not to come in, that the bathroom was the one place Naegi could find solace, but why trust him? Look at what had happened last time he trusted the other Luckster.

But for now, he was alone. The snug space of the bathroom made him feel safer; within a couple of seconds, he could scan the entire room and see if anyone else was there. The only parts hidden from his immediate scrutiny were the shelves behind the hinged mirror, and it would be impossible to hide in there. The shower’s translucent curtain was a relief, too. He’d tested it with his arm, and found you could easily see shadows behind it. Nobody could sneak in.

Still, he worried. He couldn’t hear Komaeda. Pressing his ear against the door did no better. But Komaeda was there. He knew it. He didn’t know much about the older boy, but he did know Komaeda wasn’t one to simply get bored and leave. He’d stay out there until Naegi had finished his shower and changed, and he probably wouldn’t still leave after that. Oh no, he’d want to make sure Naegi ate his dinner and got ‘all the nutrition a young Hope needs to grow stronger!’. It disturbed him that he actually _heard_ the capital in Hope when Komaeda had said that.

Thinking of that made him remember how Komaeda had handled his title: with oozing, slimy affection. Komaeda had rolled the two words over his tongue, caressing them with a murmur, speaking with emotion so intense that Naegi had been unable to move as Komaeda’s fingers ghosted over his shoulders and down his arms. Naegi had fled to the bathroom shortly after.

Naegi leaned against the sink, spine sagging. He wanted to rest. But he was afraid that Komaeda would break his promise and check on him if he did nothing. And . . . and a hot shower honestly sounded nice. The idea of stripping down? Not so much. His clothing had been the only protection from Komaeda’s touch, and he didn’t want to let that go.

_It’s . . . it’s just water, right? It wouldn’t hurt them._

He took off his favourite hoodie anyways, just to be safe.

Showering with clothes on was weird. Water cushions caught between fabric and skin. His clothes turned dark, making them lay heavy against his body. The streams of liquid that poured upon the bathtub’s floor were thick with dirt and grime. He stood like that for a while, letting it rain on him as steam filled the small room. His eyes drifted close. Despite the soothing heat, there was a hard knot in his gut that wouldn’t go away. It felt familiar somehow . . .

Oh. Right. He’d felt something like this the first time he’d showered after Maizono’s death.

He swallowed hard. His clothes continued to weight him down. He made a token effort to wash his hair, hoping the robotic motions would bring him out of his funk. Plus, it was nice to be clean again.

It took him a while to bring himself to shut off the water. Even longer to muster the will to change. He scowled at the grey pyjamas folded neatly on the toilet lid. He didn’t want to know where Komaeda had gotten them.

He dried off slowly. His eyes remained locked on the bathroom door, just waiting for the knob to turn. But, while Komaeda may have been many things, he didn’t seem to be a liar. He left Naegi alone, as promised.

 He still changed as quickly as possible.

There was one thing left to do, and it didn’t please him. Though reason told him he had to face this, his legs refused to move toward the door. Its menacing aura had only increased, so that the air around it seemed to throb scarlet. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he could see the shadows of Komaeda’s feet under the door crack.

His nails dug into his thighs.

 _I wonder how long it will take them to find me,_ he wondered. Truthfully, he didn’t like the idea of his classmates going to a place where Enoshima’s allies waited . . . But . . . But Kirigiri and Togami were really smart! They would be able to find a way in without anyone getting hurt. He imagined them already outside dressed in camouflage, staking out the building with movie-era spy gear. He smiled. Kirigiri would love that. The gear, at least.

 _They’ll come for me,_ he told himself. _Until them, I just have to survive._

But to do that . . .

A long-deceased voice whispered into his ear. “ _The only way to proceed is to adapt_.”

Adapt. He could do that. All it involved was playing along, after all. Despite everything, he trusted Komaeda not to hurt him.

(Imaginary Celestia giggled at his optimism.)

Before he could change his mind, he wrenched the bathroom door open. Komaeda . . . wasn’t there? Oh wait, there he was on his hands and knees. It looked like he was combing through the carpet with his fingers.

Good to know he still hadn’t seen Komaeda’s full repertoire of crazy.

“What are you doing?” Naegi asked flatly.

“Looking for dirt. I’d be awful if you had to stay in a dirty room.” Komaeda still stopped and stood up, though. “I can take your old clothes . . . why are they wet?”

Naegi didn’t know how to answer that.

Fortunately, Komaeda had come to his own conclusion. He slapped his forehead. “I never mentioned I was going to wash them for you, so you decided to take care of it yourself. Still, I can probably make then cleaner, if you would trust me to touch anything of yours.”

 _No._ “Go ahead.”

Komaeda took his soaked clothes without complaint. He didn’t even flinch as his own shirt became dark.

“I’m an expert at cleaning, so I’ll be sure to get every last speck. I’ll scrub until my hands bleed!”

“Uh . . .” Naegi chewed at his lower lip. “I’d rather not have blood all over my clothes.”

Komaeda laughed, but thankfully, it wasn’t that frightening laughter from before. “Good to see you have a sense of humour. Your predecessor doesn’t.”

His predecessor? The question was on the tip of his tongue. Had Komaeda kidnapped someone before?

“Try to finish your dinner. It’d be terrible if you got sick.”

“ . . . Thanks,” he said stiffly. _Adapt. No point in provoking him. Just play along until it’s over._

Komaeda beamed, and he was gone.

Naegi immediately tested the door. No luck there. Maybe if he was Kirigiri this wouldn’t be a problem, but he’d never paid attention when she picked locks. Plus, if he did get the door unlocked, there was still the problem of the _other_ people in the building. He had no idea who would work alongside Enoshima, but if Monokuma was an example, it bode ill.

He did end up listening and finishing his meal. It had grown lukewarm, but that didn’t matter since his tastebuds were numb. It all slid tastelessly down his throat.

Afterwards, he walked the perimeter of the room, knocking on the walls. He didn’t know exactly what he was listening for, but people did that in movies all the time. He’d even spotted Kirigiri doing it once or twice! Speaking of Kirigiri, with her talent, she probably would have broken out by now.  

He tried the desk drawers next. Empty. The shelves. Bare. The closet had only a couple of outfits. What was he expected to do all day? He may be no amateur in being locked up, but Hope’s Peak had been filled with things to do and people to see.

Time passed in a haze. The emptiness of the room gnawed at him like a dog at a bone. He’d gladly take a tongue-lashing from Togami right now, or the cold chill of Kirigiri’s anger. He’d even let the Genocider go at him with her unique blend of threats and affection. His own voice, when he hesitantly said a few words aloud, wasn’t enough to give this place life.

He flopped into bed, burrowed under the covers and pulled the blanket over his head. Blearily, he remembered when he had first met Komaeda and thought everything was okay. Boy, Togami was not going to mince words when he heard about that.

(They’d all be angry, now that he thought about it. But it would be okay, because they were just looking out for him.)

Sometime later, the door creaked open. Naegi stayed in his cocoon, feigning sleep. He couldn’t hear any footsteps.

Something plopped down on the bed.

It brushed his back. His body automatically contorted to jerk away. That drew a surprised sound from – oh, he knew that voice – Komaeda. Sounding confused, the white-haired boy said, “You’re awake.”

No point in hiding it now. He ripped the blanket off his head with a vengeance. Komaeda stood at the side of the bed. Next to Naegi, there was a . . . a . . . a stuffed Monokuma?

Why? Just _why_?

“I know from experience that the first night’s the hardest, so I tried to get something you could cuddle with. I don’t know if you had stuffed animals before, but bears are your favourite animal, right?” At least Komaeda had the awareness to look a little embarrassed. “Sleep tight, Naegi-kun! If you need me, knock on the right wall. I’m next door, so I’ll hear you."

Once again, Naegi was alone.

He immediately hurled the stuffed Monokuma across the room.

* * *

Sleep refused to come easy. He fell into some sort of half-conscious state instead, where his senses could remain alert in case Komaeda returned. The stuffed Monokuma lay in a discarded pile on the other side of the room. When, if, he got up, he planned to toss it in the trash. Just because he could.

He left the lights on. Just because Komaeda wasn’t going to hurt him didn’t mean he wanted the other boy skulking around in the dark. The brightness didn’t bother him too much; he’d always slept with them on at the academy. Really, he should actually sleep better here since there were no potential murders to worry about.

He hoped.

Later, he was glad he had made that decision. Because someone did come in, and whomever it was made no effort to keep quiet. That tiny detail was enough to make him aware of one fact; it was _not_ Komaeda.

Naegi held his breath. He stayed perfectly still, pretending –

“You’re not sleeping.”

. . . Well, Kirigiri always said he was a bad liar.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position. This new visitor had blazing red eyes that Naegi could easily imagine glowing in the dark. His hair was . . . his hair was _long_. Had he’d ever cut it? Ever? It wouldn’t be much a surprise if he hadn’t, considering the strands seemed to nearly be as tall as their owner. A frown marked the visitor’s face, and there were creases along his mouth, as if the expression had been etched permanently into his face. In one hand, he held the discarded stuffed bear. The other hand rubbed his chin.

“Very amateurish,” the unknown person muttered as he examined the stuffed animal. “I expected him to put more work into it. Or a microphone.”

“Um, hi?” Naegi lifted his hand in an aborted wave. “Who are you?”

The unknown person gave him a very particular stare. It was the same kind Togami gave someone when he was deciding whether they were worthy of hearing his voice. “Kamukura Izuru.”

It was tempting to straight-out beg Kamukura for help. However, if he had learned anything from Komaeda, it was that he needed to be careful. First impressions could be deceiving. True, Kamukura showed no signs of wanting to kill him, but being associated with Komaeda wasn’t exactly a plus in Naegi’s books.

Those scorching red eyes turned on him. Naegi had the weirdest sensation of being pinned in place. That stare seemed to dissect him, take him apart piece by piece until the very essence of his being was revealed. Kamukura, he realized, had a stare and presence similar to Kirigiri. Only his seemed more intense. And colder.

Naegi jumped when Kamukura spoke. “I  didn’t think Komaeda had the strength to betray her. Not even for you.”

“Her? Do you mean Enoshima?”

_Please, no. . . ._

Kamukura didn’t bother to confirm that. He turned the bear upside down and sideways, studying it before tossing it aside. Apparently, he cared for it as little as Naegi did.

Naegi’s heart sank into his stomach. If Kamukura was telling the truth, then Komaeda, too, was on Enoshima’s side. It would certainly explain why he decided to bring Naegi to a place filled with her people. Although it still didn’t explain why Komaeda had kidnapped him or what happened to his friends. Or why, if Komaeda had indeed worked with Enoshima, Komaeda was actively protecting him.

“What do you guys want from me?” Naegi asked quietly.

Kamukura didn’t even glance in his direction. “Haven’t you figured it out by now?”

“Komaeda-kun said he wanted me to be myself.”

“ . . . The class trials had left me with the impression that you were intelligent.” This time, Kamukura did look at him. It wasn’t a kind look.

Okay. Clearly, Kamukura thought the answer was obvious. He withdrew into his mind, and played back Komaeda’s words to him. Now that he genuinely thought about it, it actually was pretty obvious. There was one word that kept coming up again and again and _again_.

He looked down at his hands. “It’s my title. He kidnapped me because of my title. But that still doesn’t explain why.”

“Komaeda worships hope. Naturally, that would extend to the alleged Ultimate Hope.”

“Most worshipers don’t kidnap their idol.”

Kamukura’s chin dipped. The long strands of hair that fell over his face hid it.

“I should have insisted he bring the detective along, too. Maybe then this conversation wouldn’t be so slow.” Kamukura brushed his hair aside. Despite his harsh words, his face was eerily blank. “Komaeda isn’t just interested in preaching about his beliefs. He seeks to create and cultivate hope. Please tell me I don’t need to explain the rest.”

“I get it,” Naegi said, though that didn’t mean he had to like it. “If he’s seeking to cultivate hope, then that must mean he trying to cultivate my hope, I guess. Just . . . why? None of this is going to make me more hopeful. If anything, it’s going to do the opposite.”

Kamukura scoffed. He kicked the Monokuma stuffie, and it rolled until that nightmarish face was staring at Naegi. He bristled; it may have been a toy, but that manic twist to its smile was real enough.

“He’s not stupid,” Kamukura said. “He didn’t expect you to cuddle with a thing like that. He wanted to bring back traumatic memories. He _wants_ to hurt you. He believes that forcing others through despair is the best way to create hope.”

_Is that true? I was so sure he wouldn’t harm me, but if this is what he truly believes . . ._

“This is boring. You’re much less interesting than I wished for,” Kamukura said. “It’s a shame.”

Oddly enough, this degrading conversation weighed on him less than the enthusiastic statements from Komaeda had. See, Naegi knew how to deal with scorn and apathy; it was basically like speaking to a child of Kirigiri and Togami. Also, Kamukura seemed sane. That was always a good thing.

Although, he had thought that about Komaeda the first time they spoke, too . . .

He blinked, realizing that Kamukura was already at the door. He had moved silently, like a panther on the prowl. Though his hand now lay on the knob, he didn’t turn it.

“Before you start trying to think up plans to convince me, I’m going to tell you this. No. I am not going to help you escape, or talk to Komaeda for you.” Kamukura glanced over his shoulder, unmoved by Naegi’s splutters. “You’re boring, but Komaeda has always been a source of surprises. Now that you are no longer ignorant of his intentions, I expect your struggle against him will provide _some_ moments of mild excitement.”

“A-are you kidding me? Are you saying you’re going to let him keep me here just because it’s entertaining?”

“Yes.”

Naegi didn’t know what to do with such a flat answer. Cold, red eyes bored into his own, and he realized this was no exaggeration. Kamukura didn’t care. At all. Naegi barely qualified as human to him.

_What happened to you all? Why are you like this?_

Kamukura spoke once more. “Hope never lasts long in this place . . . but who knows? Maybe the Ultimate Hope will find a way to surprise me.”


	5. The Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to again repeat that this is not canon with the ongoing anime. In particular, Kamukura is probably going to have a different personality. Part of this is because I've been writing ahead and wrote a few chapters with him before his debut episode aired, and part of it has to do with the plot. Likewise, the reason for his fall will not be the same as canon.
> 
> Additionally, in this story, Kamukura did go to classes for a bit with the other students.

In a way, Kamukura had already broken his promise not to help. He had left Naegi with a precious gift, after all: the knowledge of the bizarre motives driving his kidnapper. Objectively, it wasn’t much. However, it gave him a place to start, a base from which to launch his attack. Naegi had never doubted he would get out of here, but now it looked like that day might be coming sooner than expected!

Excitement bubbled through his blood. There would be no more sleep tonight, so he burned away time by meticulously plucking tuffs of stuffing from the Monokuma plushie, and tossing them into the wastebasket. He hated to admit it, hated to say anything positive about his former tormentor, but this Monokuma was super soft. Had it been a regular bear, he would have seriously considered snuggling with it –his friends weren’t here to laugh at him, after all. When all the fluff was gone (leaving behind a limp skin), he tore off the zigzagged, plastic red eye. It fit neatly between his fingers like a throwing star . . . interesting. He drew his hand back, and aimed for the wastebasket. With a cry, he snapped his wrist forward -

The eye slipped and fell onto his lap.

“Huh. That was disappointing.”

He kicked his feet. He really wished he had a clock . . . though it wasn’t like he was going to be here long! Still, he should ask Komaeda to give him something to do during the day. Just in case.

He awaited Komaeda’s arrival impatiently. The idea of him _not_ showing up was unthinkable. He sat coiled on his bed, muscles slowly growing stiff and painful. He barely blinked. When the knob finally jiggled, a burst of energy make his legs grow tingly; it took all he had not to jump up and rush the door like some oversized puppy.

“Good morning, Naegi-kun!” Komaeda beamed as he peeked through the small crack between door and frame.

Naegi had a sudden vision of tackling Komaeda and making a run for it. “G-good morning.”

Komaeda’s gaze skimmed over the desk’s empty dishes from yesterday’s dinner. A touch of satisfaction coloured his expression. Then, he saw the deflated corpse of the Monokuma doll draped across the floor . . . Naegi squinted; what was that glint in his eyes?

“I brought some food if you’re hungry, but not a whole lot.” Komaeda nudged the door the rest of the way open. There was no hot, steaming tray this time. Instead, Komaeda had a bowl and spoon in hand, and a box of cereal tucked under his arm.

“Thanks,” Naegi said that automatically. He wasn’t even sure if he meant it. “You can put that on the desk.”

Komaeda did so. He began stacking the dirty dishes from yesterday, speaking casually as he did so. “I see you ripped up that plushie I gave you. I hope that wasn’t because of its substandard quality. Of course, I can always get you more if you need to vent your frustrations.”

“Uh, actually I just destroyed it because I was bored. I don’t have anything to do.”

“Hmm. I suppose this is my fault for being so woefully unprepared.” (Naegi looked around at the fully furnished, eerily familiar room. Oh, yes. _Unprepared_ ). “A lot of stuff was destroyed in the riots, but I’m sure I can root through the rubble and find something. I’ll get started right away –”

“No!”

They both stopped confused. Only when Naegi realized he was holding his hand out in a ‘stop’ position, did he understand that he was the one who had spoken.

“You don’t need to leave right now.” A sheen of sweat appeared on his palms. Naegi was the one speaking, but his voice sounded distant like he was hearing it through a long pipe. “You just got here.”

_And if you’re here, at least I know what you’re up to._

“I don’t understand why you continuously grant the honour of your company to someone as uninteresting as me, but I certainly will never refuse.” Komaeda turned to face Naegi. “So, what can I do for you?”

Upon hearing Komaeda’s agreement, a hard knot of anxiety in Naegi’s gut unravelled. Good. He had a chance to go on the offensive, then.

“Komaeda-kun. . .” The name wedged in his throat. He tensed it, trying to remove the ball now stuck there. “I know what you’re trying to do; you’re trying to strengthen my hope.”

“Ah, you’re so perceptive, Naegi-kun! I mean I already knew that from watching the trials, but you really are something that has to be seen to be believed.” But no sooner than Komaeda had said that, was he suddenly shaking his head and backtracking. “I’m not trying to oblige you into showing me your true power or anything. There are plenty of people who are more worthy of being graced with your glory.”

“Komaeda-kun, I don’t think you’re any less important than anyone else. But, that’s not what I want to say. What I’m trying to tell you is that if you really are trying to help me, you need to let me go.”

Naegi stood. It made him a little bit taller than when he had been sitting on the bed, and that him feel a little more powerful. Komaeda smiled blankly at him; it was like he hadn’t heard Naegi speak. He took a step forward, and Komaeda still didn’t react. He suspected even being shot wouldn’t make that expression budge an inch.

“I know about your . . . philosophy about despair and hope. I’m not trying to insult you, but . . . it’s wrong. That’s not how hope works. Hope doesn’t come from despair; it comes from believing that things can be better. It’s about not giving up and looking to the future. It comes from thinking that if we all try and work together, we can make the world better than it is. Do you see? You don’t need to hurt people to bring them hope. You just have to be optimistic and unite them under a common cause, and then you’ll have hope. It has nothing to do with despair. So, if you keep me here like this, you’re stopping me from doing all the things that spread hope, and I don’t think that’s what you really want.”

He took a step toward the white-haired boy. “Komaeda-kun, you’re not like Enoshima-san. I’m not going to pretend I understand why you decided to help her, but I do know you don’t agree with her goals. You want to spread hope, right? And you want to help me . . . so how about you do both! Once we get out of here and find my friends, we can make hope together! That’s what we both want, isn’t it? I’m sure my friends will forgive you once I explain . . . okay, Kirigiri-san might not for a while, but that’s because she’s always looking out for me.”

He closed the distance between them, and clutched Komaeda’s hands within his own. He squeezed; it was meant to channel his energy to the white-haired boy, to let Komaeda know just how beautiful this proposal was. His friends would understand. Once they realized that Komaeda hadn’t wanted to harm him, they’d accept him just like they’d accepted Fukawa’s other side.

“Think about it.” There was no need for Naegi to fake his wide smile. “What could be better than two ordinary people working alongside the surviving Ultimates to spread hope to the world? We might only be a few people, but we’ve already lived through the killing game. We didn’t let despair beat us then, and it won’t beat us now! We’re going to put this world back together, and you can help us.”

He waited. Usually, this was the point where people said something, but Komaeda stayed silent. It was uncomfortable.

“Umm,” Naegi chewed on that word, “so should we go now?”

Komaeda stared at him. His smile was still there, but it didn’t seem real. It was like it was painted on his face.

Then, something about the other boy’s appearance seemed to blink, like a flickering hologram.

Naegi knew what was coming. He braced himself –

Komaeda laughed.

Expecting that laughter didn’t make it any less unnatural, but that meant Komaeda was pleased, right? That was a good thing, wasn’t it? By clinging to that thought, Naegi was able to keep an uneasy smile as Komaeda shook with frenzied laughter. He’d probably get along well with Genocider Shou.

“. . . I can’t believe it.” Komaeda whispered that so quietly Naegi barely heard him.

“Believe what?”

“I remember how your hope lit up the entire room in that last trial, but I never imagined it was this brilliant! The broadcast doesn’t do you justice, Naegi-kun. Ah, to be blessed with your presence. . .” Komaeda’s voice was so high and breathless it started to crack. “I really am the Ultimate Lucky Student.”

“So, will you help me?”

“Of course I’ll help you. My very existence is meant to be nothing more than your stepping stone, after all. I’ll give everything to make sure you can rebuild the world.”

It worked! Komaeda’s laughter, as creepy as it was, was catching. “Right. Then let’s go!”

Komaeda grinned back at him. “Sorry, Naegi-kun! As tempting as your speech is, you still can’t leave.”

It took a bit to sink in.

“What? Why?”

Komaeda clicked his tongue. Head tilted slightly to the side, he gave Naegi a proud, but patronizing look. Gently, he untangled his hands from Naegi’s own.

“I’ve vowed to dedicate my life to you. People like you don’t come around very often and this time . . . this time I won’t watch from the sidelines. I’ll make sure you triumph, and that means you have to be kept safe until your hope becomes brighter than a sun! I’ll shield you from danger with my life, even if that means going against you.”

“But none of that is necessary!” Naegi cried. “We beat the Ultimate Despair. Doesn’t that prove I can take care of myself?”

For the first time, Komaeda wasn’t looking at him with fanatical adoration. That looked like . . . incredulity? Disappointment? Technically it looked like Komaeda felt nothing at all, but Naegi knew better.

Komaeda took a deep breath. He couldn’t meet Naegi’s eyes as he said, “Naegi-kun, don’t take this the wrong way, but what you went through . . . it was a game.”

What. There was no way . . . he couldn’t have just said that. How could he say that? That was no game! That was . . . it was . . . there wasn’t even a word to describe what it was. Watching his friends slaughter each other, then being forced to condemn another to a horrible execution . . . it was hell made reality, that’s what it was.

“A game,” he repeated with disbelief. “My friends _died_ during that!”

“Because their hope wasn’t strong enough. It was so despair inducing to watch such wonderful symbols of hope succumb to her . . . but the end made it all worth it! Their sacrifice –”

“Don’t say that!”

He pushed Komaeda. Hard. The other boy was bigger, but hadn’t expected the assault. He slammed against the wall, eyes wide like a kicked puppy.

Naegi stared at his outstretched hands. The air lay thick between him and Komaeda. He wanted . . . he wanted . . . Naegi didn’t know what he wanted. He had to move around; jolts of electricity were striking his nerves. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to stop shaking.

“It wasn’t worth it.” Naegi’s words drifted on top of a wheeze. They had to. He couldn’t control his breathing enough to speak properly. “Nothing could make that worth it.”

“Naegi-kun -!”

“ _It_ _wasn’t worth it_!”

_Bang._

It was amazing how quickly the mood in the room changed. Komaeda’s pupils turned into pinpricks, giving him the distinct look of a cornered animal. Naegi could only stare at the door as his red-hot anger instantly turned into ice. Neither of them moved. Even Naegi’s heart had stopped beating.

“You should hide in the bathroom,” Komaeda said. “I’ll see who was knocking.”

Right.

Naegi was strung so tight that his own mental voice startled him. At least it spurred him into – albeit, clumsy – action. He hobbled over to the washroom, and fell through the half-closed door.

Cold tiles greeted him. The door – how had he fallen so far away? He scrambled for purchase and clawed at it. It swung shut, cutting him off from the bedroom just as Komaeda began to walk toward the other door.

He had forgotten about this part of his situation. This was why he needed Komaeda’s cooperation to escape. For both their sakes, Komaeda had better be a more talented liar than he was. He could only sit against the door, breathing heavily. It felt like there was a blade hanging above, ready to chop off his head. He could try to listen in, he _should_ try, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

It seemed like no time at all had passed before someone knocked on the bathroom door. Goosebumps rose on his skin, but his panic was stilled by Komeada’s whisper. Apparently, the person knocking had been Kamukura. He must have been warning them they were being too loud.

_He was probably listening in for fun._

Neither of them spoke as Naegi slumped out of the washroom (he immediately wondered why he hadn’t just stayed there, stayed away from his kidnapper). Nor did they look at each other. Naegi’s teeth ground together. In a way, the almost painful pressure was reassuring.

“I’m sorry,” Komaeda said, and he sounded sincere. “That was my fault. Figures I’d mess up like that. I promise I’ll be more careful next time.”

Naegi was about to accept the apology –

“ _He_ wants _to hurt you_.”

No. He wasn’t going to play nice.

“I thought you said this was somewhere safe.”

He thought that might finally unsettle the other boy. Certainly, Komaeda’s sureness had melted away. But then, Komaeda said, “Naegi-kun, you aren’t the first Ultimate Hope.”

That surprised him; he’d never heard of an Ultimate Hope before. However, he was missing a good chunk of his memory, so it wasn’t that unbelievable.

Komaeda said, “I suppose you don’t remember, but there was a student in the class before yours who was meant to be a god. Decades of research and experiments had come together to turn one boring, talentless boy into a miracle the world had never seen before . . . He was called the Ultimate Hope, but he really should have been named the Ultimate _Ultimate_. His specialty was talent itself. He could do anything. Nothing stumped him. I thought he was invincible.”

“That’s . . . I didn’t think someone like that could exist,” Naegi said.

Komaeda didn’t answer. He turned away. But before he did, Naegi saw his lip curl, exposing teeth in a primal, animalistic snarl. “Do you know what happened to that Ultimate Hope?”

“No.”

“He was tainted by _her_.” Komaeda spat those words out, like they were physically disgusting.

“You mean Enoshima-san?”

 “Yes.” Komaeda’s hand curled into a fist against his chest. “It’s . . . it was my fault. I saw it coming. I saw it happening right in front of me. But I didn’t do anything. I trusted Hope to overcome her. I stayed out of the way. By the time I tried to get involved, it was already too late. I . . . I only made everything worse, and I . . . I can’t let it happen again.

“Do _you_ see, Naegi-kun? You’re not safe, not from despair. It’s not safe out there. Not for a newborn Hope. Not for you.”

Naegi couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Komaeda turned with agonizing slowness. His face . . . there was nothing.  His green eyes had become flat and lifeless. And when he spoke, there was no inflection.

“I’ve learned from my mistakes.  I saw the truth that day: not even an Ultimate Hope understands hope as well as me. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines anymore.”

He took a robotic step toward Naegi. Cold hands found his shoulders, and _squeezed_.

“They’re not going to break you, Naegi-kun. Not this time. I won’t let them.”


	6. The First Crack

In the aftermath of that near disaster, Naegi chased Komaeda out of the room. The one good thing about his captor was that he generally did whatever Naegi asked– except for the whole ‘stop kidnapping me!’ thing – and he always did it with a smile. Okay . . . that part was creepy, but no creepier than murderous, robotic bears.

When the door shut, he pressed his ear to the wood. Was it to check if Komaeda had really left, or was it to make sure nobody was coming while he was vulnerable? Naegi himself wasn’t sure. He just knew that he _had_ to do this. So, he stood there, skin clammy and cold, awaiting some unknown signal. It was quiet on the other side of the door. That just made things _worse_.

His teeth grit together. The instant he realized how he had truly gotten here, Naegi had known he was in danger. Komaeda hadn’t been subtle about that either. But it had been Kamukura’s latest warning, that panic upon hearing the knock, which finally drove it in. Before, the idea of danger had been abstract, distant. Kind of like the possibility of being murdered during the Killing Game. After the first trial, Naegi had never forgotten it could happen, but it never really sunk in. He had never witnessed a murder in person, after all, only the gory aftermath. That had made all the difference. Without seeing it for himself, without seeing one of his friends as they succumbed to murderous despair, Naegi had never been able to imagine any of his classmates betraying him.

As his conscience always did when his thoughts strayed down that path, it slapped him. He needed to stop thinking that way. Of course they hadn’t betrayed him! His classmates, _all_ of them (except, perhaps, Enoshima) had been good people. But who could have expected them to function normally under all that pressure and stress? It had all been that stupid bear’s fault, not theirs. 

Blaming the familiar villain made him feel better. Dare he say it was nostalgic? He eyed the disembowelled Monokuma plushie on the center of the floor. He wouldn’t mind kicking it around a bit . . . but his body was reluctant to leave the door. He pressed his palm against it, pushing half-heartedly.

A sudden gloom swept over him. He sunk to his knees, cheek squishing against the wood. He wanted to . . . he wanted to cry or something, but he had no tears to shed. His throat didn’t agree with that though, and constricted in preparation.

He brought his knees up to his chest, and laid his forehead upon them. Why couldn’t this be over? Hadn’t the Killing Game been enough? He just wanted to be back with his friends. They’d be worried about him, even Togami. And he worried about them, too. Last he remembered, they’d been low on food. They’d be looking for him . . . that wouldn’t make them forget to take care of themselves, right?

His fingers dug into his hair, and pulled. No, he told himself, Togami would never forget about his own wellbeing long enough to run out of food. Kirigiri, too, would choose practicality over emotion. She wouldn’t let them starve. They would be fine. They . . . they had to be . . .

His breaths came in huge, shuddering gasps. It still wasn’t enough air. He coughed, cramping already tight muscles in his back. Slowly, he looked up with bleary eyes. Colors and shapes flickered as he set his chin upon his knees. His vision started to focus. What he saw before him was the bed and the desk next to it, and sitting upon it was the box of cereal Komaeda had brought him. . .

. . . Here he was, fearing his friends couldn’t find enough food, and he was having it hand-delivered on regular intervals.  He could sleep without worrying about being spotted by evil robots or people with Monokuma masks. He had a _bed_!

It wasn’t fair.

He stood stiffly; something fierce and solid inside him snapped his spine straight like a metal rod. He marched over to the desk, and grabbed the cereal box so hard he dented it.

None of this was fair.

He didn’t think about it. He shoved his way into the washroom, and ripped the top off the box.

He turned it over, and let every bit fall into the toilet.

The sound of flushing was music to his ears. As he watched his intended breakfast swirl into oblivion, he didn’t feel the least bit upset. It felt . . . _good_. Like in his own little way, he was defying Komaeda. He’d never engaged in this type of rebellion against Monokuma, but that was because uniting the students against him had been much more fulfilling.

Also, Monokuma had placed cameras and machine guns everywhere.

He ended up tossing the torn cereal box toward the door, where Komaeda would be sure to see it when he inevitably returned. He enjoyed an impromptu game afterwards of punting the Monokuma plushie into the wastebasket, delighting in the way it flopped and soared irregularly through the air. Now _this_ was satisfying. When he got back to his friends, he’d be sure to introduce Asahina and Hagakure to his invention. Maybe even the Genocider would join in. They’d have a blast!

After the sixth goal (where he’d created a crude and completely necessary obstacle course), he had to stop to rest. One would have thought that spending weeks trudging though rubble would make him stronger – and he was sure it had – but this was the first time in a while where his body wasn’t constantly under stress. His journey through the outside world was catching up to him. So he slumped over onto his chair, panting. He stared at the Monokuma plushie and everything he’d done, that game he just played . . . it all suddenly felt so worthless.

_Because it is. None of this is going to help you or your friends._

He closed his eyes. Komaeda had insisted he wouldn’t change his mind, and Naegi was starting to believe that. That didn’t mean he was stuck here, though. Komaeda’s help just would have made things much less dangerous. However, if he wouldn’t help, then Naegi was just going to have to bust out on his own. He could do that.

Right?

Getting information would be easy. Komaeda readily gave it up. However, he had to remember what Kamukura said: Komaeda wasn’t stupid. The fact that he’d apparently stolen Naegi away without much trouble confirmed that the white-haired boy could be crafty. Naegi had to be careful. He couldn’t go about this like his usual friendly self; he’d probably give something away accidently. At the same time, he had to pretend that he was his usual friendly self or Komaeda would notice . . .

If only Kirigiri was here to help.

He shook his head to clear it. He could mope about that later. He needed to figure out a way out of this room.

The door was sturdy. It hurt when he punched it. Not like that mattered much. Even if he was strong enough to knock it down, it was out of the question. With no way to check whether anyone was in earshot, making that much noise was too risky. He checked the knob; there didn’t seem to be any way to pick the lock from this side. But what did he know? He was no action movie hero.

Maybe he could trick Komaeda into opening it for him? His room was right next door after all, and he’d already given Naegi a free pass to summon him. If he were quick and surprised Komaeda, he could probably get through the door before he was stopped. There was still the matter of evading Komaeda and the others after that, but one had to take risks to get ahead, didn’t they?

. . . Of course, Kirigiri had been talking about mysteries when she said that. Not about escaping a hive full of Enoshima’s people. Was it worth the risk, then? Or was it better to find a way to escape that would not instantly alert his kidnapper?

His head hurt.

It wasn’t like he had to make a decision right away. Before he attempted anything, he should make sure that his body was ready for it. Now, he realized, was the time to return to the exercises Oogami had shown him. It had been a while since he had time for them, but in the academy, he had practiced religiously after Oogami had passed (his own private tribute to her), and still remembered the motions.

The noise constraint and small space limited what he could do, but once he was rested, he urged his sluggish limbs through a basic routine. It was different being on carpet instead of wood, and his feet ended up slipping when he tried to dig down into the basic martial arts stances. Well, that didn’t matter much. He wasn’t planning to fight Komaeda, or anyone.

He trained. And trained. And trained and trained and trained. Without any reference of time or other things to do, he couldn’t tell when to stop. He worked through his light-headedness until his legs buckled. With the last of his energy, he slumped over to the bed and collapsed. His heart raced, and it didn’t seem like it was only from labour.

He was too tired to stand. He was too tired to prop himself up and rotate so that he wasn’t lying sideways across the bed with his feet hanging off. He was too tired to work on an escape plan.

He lay there until the door opened.

* * *

Huh. Komaeda certainly had an interesting assortment of items. He had returned with Naegi’s lunch (which Naegi had ignored as it made him nauseous when he looked at it) and a box full of random things that he had no idea what to do with. Like, for example, what appeared to be the snapped-off paw of a Monokuma robot. What was he supposed to do with that?

He sighed. Surely, there must have been a few useful items in there. He sat next to the box and sifted through it object by object, ignoring how Komaeda’s eyes bored into his back. The white-haired boy was sitting on the bed, which made Naegi relax a little; he’d hear the springs if the other got to his feet.

The first thing Naegi pulled out was a page of a five-year old newspaper. The main feature was an article about some massive blackout that had apparently affected the country, although Naegi couldn’t remember it. The other side was peppered with light, slice-of life editorials that brought a smile to his face – until he started looking more closely at the names, and wondered if they were all okay. He shifted the page in front of his face to hide it from Komaeda. No point in giving him that satisfaction.

“Komaeda-kun, is this clock accurate?” he asked, holding up a small clock. It claimed it was 1:30 in the afternoon.

Komaeda smiled widely.

“ . . . Right.” Naegi set the clock down beside him.

Next, he found a waterlogged manga that became illegible halfway through. Then, a battered stuffed rabbit that was rubbed grey with dust (and a perfectly clean Monokuma plushie. Naegi had to take a second to control himself). A chipped plate and some cutlery were there, too, and he was actually glad to see those.

He pulled out a bouncy ball next. Naturally, he had to try it out. It rebounded off the floor with surprising speed, shooting right past his head and back toward . . . right toward Komaeda. He grabbed it with a snap of his wrist.

Komaeda laughed. “Hey, next time warn me when you want to play catch.”

Naegi stared at him, unsure. The honest thing to do would be to admit it was an accident, or simply ignore Komaeda and keep going. But hadn’t he decided earlier he needed to get information from Komaeda? Alienating him wasn’t a very good way of accomplishing that.

He didn’t look at Komaeda. “Uh, sorry. We . . . could do something together if you want.”

. . . Ouch. Saying that hurt. It had to be done, though, and it wouldn’t be too bad. If Naegi had any skills, it was being friendly with other people.

“I have cards,” said someone that was neither Naegi nor Komaeda.

Naegi whipped around. When did Kamukura get here?! He hadn’t heard the door open. Yet, that was undeniably Kamukura leaning against the wall, idly staring at the other side.

Komaeda said, “Sounds like fun. But Naegi-kun, I need to warn you. As unlikely as it seems, I do have one actual skill, and that’s luck. Plus, Kamukura is a master at anything he does!”

Naegi shrugged. “That’s fine. I’m supposed to be the Ultimate Lucky Student too, remember? So . . . Go Fish?”

They sat in a rough triangle. The moment Naegi picked up his hand, he knew this was a game within a game. It was too simple to be anything else, not when it came from Kamukura. There were ulterior motives here . . . it had to be a test. What for? That’s what puzzled him.

 _If he’s going to test me, then I need to give it my all_.

Face neutral, Naegi prepared to do exactly that.

* * *

Two games later, Naegi had exactly zero points. He stared blankly at his hand as Komaeda took away his three-pair. _Again_. Komaeda hadn’t been kidding when he said he had luck on his side.

Naegi glanced sideways at Kamukura, still surprised the longhaired boy had continued playing. He’d been clearly going through the motions during the first game, often not even looking at his hand when he asked one of them for their cards. Kamukura had won that round, trouncing both of them. Yet despite his clear boredom, _Kamukura_ had asked for another game. Komaeda had happily agreed (Naegi suspected he would have played this same game all day if they asked), and Naegi had been so stunned he’d nodded without thinking.

The second round had seen a significant decline in Kamukura’s dominance, but no matter how hard Naegi tried, Komaeda stole what leeway was given. The second round was his game, even if he apologized sincerely every time he took somebody else’s cards. It was halfway through this round that Kamukura actually got a little interested. At least Naegi assumed that was the reason Kamukura hadn’t stopped watching him.

Kamukura got the last set, ending the game. Before Naegi could consider wallowing in sorrow about his latest loss, the other boy’s head snapped around. Red eyes held Naegi in a vice-grip that set the air itself alight.

“I purposely played very poorly, but my points still surpass yours,” Kamukura said. “You are doing this on purpose. You are trying to fool us.”

Naegi cringed. “I-I’m not! I’m just unlucky.”

“Not _unlucky,”_ Komaeda protested. “You were a Hope’s Peak Academy student, after all!”

 Komaeda lay what was supposed to be a supporting hand on Naegi’s upper arm. It just made him jerk away.

Naegi said, “Yeah, but most of the time, it seems like I have bad luck.”

For some reason, that struck a chord with Komaeda. The white-haired boy virtually _squealed_ in delight. He cried out, “That’s not it, Naegi-kun! All these little feats of bad luck are just there to balance out your good luck. That’s how it works!”

“. . . You were your year’s Ultimate Lucky Student.” There was an odd cadence to Kamukura’s tone that Naegi couldn’t quite place.

And Komaeda was shaking with laughter. He rolled his weight back onto his spine until his feet hovered above the ground, making Naegi fear he would topple backwards. “Two Lucksters in the same place! That’s got to be a little interesting for you, Kamukura-kun.”

The corner of Kamukura’s lip twitched upward. It was a spastic, unconscious action, more like a muscle spasm than an actual projection of emotion. Naegi was suddenly very aware that Kamukura was between him and the door. The shadows that fell upon his face gave him a naturally sinister appearance, and encircled his red eyes so that they seemed to glow. Naegi . . . Naegi wanted to shuffle closer to Komaeda.

“We still need proof that his luck is as powerful as yours,” Kamukura said.

That sounded ominous. Naegi grabbed a fistful of his pants, trying to stop his hands from shaking. He turned to Komaeda and his grin. Komaeda may be his kidnapper, but at least he was nice.

“Komeada-kun, have you ever lost a card game before?” he asked.

“Only against two people,” Komaeda said. “Kamukura-kun, and the Ultimate Gambler. The researchers at Hope’s Peak wanted to see whether Ultimates could defeat a person like myself at my own field. I don’t know why they bothered. The outcome was obvious.”

“You knew Celestia?”

“Yep! I know your entire class. I watched them struggle and fall under Enoshima-san’s heel, until one bright light drowned out the darkness –!”

“That’s not what I meant. I was asking if you knew her before the Tragedy.”

Komaeda laughed, waving his hand dismissively. “You really don’t remember, do you? Kamukura-kun and I were in the class above you.”

Really? Naegi looked from one to the other, searching his mind for either boy, hoping that staring hard enough would revive that past long lost. A deep blackness greeted him. He could find no trace of the two in his memories.

But if Komaeda and Kamukura were part of the same class . . .

“Komaeda-kun . . .” Naegi began, palm sweating. “What happened to the rest of your classmates?”

“Oh, they’re around.”

“In this building?”

“Yep!”

Kirigiri would have been proud of his blank face. So, he was right. Komaeda was hiding him from the rest of his class. They . . . they were the ones that had joined Enoshima. They were the ones that helped plunge the world into despair, trapped his friends in that killing game and now, were indirectly keeping him in this room.

“How –?”

“Fifteen,” Kamukura said.

Naegi blinked. “Eh?”

Kamukura said, “Excluding Enoshima and the servants and soldiers of Despair, there are fifteen of us. Not all of them stay in this building.”

Kamukura was staring at him hard. As he stared into his eyes, Naegi realized something – something he absolutely knew to be true.

Kamukura knew exactly why Naegi was asking this.

Yet, if Kamukura knew he was planning an escape, why was he giving up information so freely? True, he could be lying, but Naegi didn’t think so. Kamukura’s stare was too intense for that. The longhaired boy _was_ telling the truth, and clearly didn’t care he had helped Naegi with the plans that went against him.

Why?

 _Kamukura said he wouldn’t help me escape,_ he reminded himself silently. _But there’s another way to look at that, isn’t there? He also never said he would_ stop _me from escaping. Maybe it’s more exciting to him that way. He’ll give me a fair chance. He won’t physically help me, but I think he’ll feed me enough leads that I can actually pull this off._

“The ones who are here, what are they like? What are their titles?” Naegi asked. He wanted to know whether there was an Ultimate Security Guard or Tracker or anything else to watch out for.

“Taking an interest in the little people, huh?” Komaeda said. “Hey, Kamukura-kun, do we have any photo albums lying around?” When Kamukura nodded, Komaeda stood and stretched his arms upward. “I’ll be right back!”

He ran out the door. Naegi mumbled, “Does he know where to look?”

Kamukura scoffed. “He’s the Luckster. It’ll be in the first place he checks.”

That didn’t leave much time. Naegi grabbed the small clock and thrust it at the other boy. “Is this right?”

“Three minutes ahead.” Kamukura didn’t even glance at a watch or anything.

“. . . You have an army?”

Kamukura tilted his head slightly. “Komaeda has told them to apprehend you if you are spotted outside this room.”

Naegi nodded, thinking hard.

“Why are you bothering?” Kamukura asked suddenly. “It won’t work. You know that.”

“I know the odds are against me, but I have to try, don’t I? I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“It won’t work. You can’t escape.”

“I can,” Naegi said.

A short silence followed.

“Komaeda’s will is focused on you. Even if you leave this building, his luck will bring you straight back. There is no escape. So long as he desires you here, it is impossible.”

“I can’t accept that,” Naegi said. “It _is_ possible. It has to be.”

Kamukura blinked. “. . . You are not stupid. Even if you have not previously witnessed Komaeda’s power, you must still understand. Yet you do not doubt. . . How can you deny it?”

Naegi shrugged. “Well, if you keep focusing on the negative and tell yourself it won’t work, then it probably won’t. So, I like to focus on the opposite. If I keep telling myself it will work and hope for the best, then maybe it will!”

“Hope . . .” Kamukura stared at the wall. “You are doing this for the sake of hope.”

“. . . I guess?”

Kamukura didn’t say anything. Naegi didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.


	7. The 77th Class

Naegi squinted critically at picture in the photo album. Then at the person before him. Then at the picture again. He frowned. Beside him on the floor, Komaeda watched. The white-haired boy seemed a little nervous. Across from them, Kamukura sat against the wall with his legs drawn up.

Naegi looked up again, and tried to overlay the picture he’d seen on the present Kamukura. Yep, same apathetic, utterly bored expression and blazing red eyes. A black suit instead of the white dress shirt and tie he wore now. The past version had pale skin as though he hadn’t been outside for a long time. The most striking difference between the past and present Kamukura however, was obviously the hair. Present Kamukura had those long locks that rivalled those of people like Maizono. Past Kamura had short hair with an impressive ahoge. It . . . kind of looked like Naegi’s hairstyle, to be creepily honest.

But there was another difference Naegi noticed. There was something wrong about past Kamukura. True, anybody could look at that face and say ‘bored’, but there was something else. Something lacking. It  . . . it just wasn’t there. Anything _real_. That picture Naegi was looking at was one of a blank slate. The primal part of him knew it instinctively, and feared that.

But present Kamukura wasn’t like that. Even when he was droning about being bored or staring into space, he was alive in a way his past self hadn’t been.

But it wasn’t like Naegi could ask about that.

“Uh, Kamukura-kun,” Naegi said. “Is there any reason you stopped cutting your hair?”

“I stopped caring,” Kamukura answered flatly.

“Why does it matter?” Komaeda cut in. “He still looks great, doesn’t he? Ultimates always know how to present themselves!”

“I was just wondering-”

“Come on, Naegi-kun! You’ve already met him. I’m supposed to be telling you about the Ultimates you don’t know.”

It was a transparent attempt to change the subject. Naegi just didn’t know why. Maybe Kamukura was sensitive about his hair? It _did_ look like it took a lot of work to keep it from getting all tangled, and people were always saying that Ultimates tended to be eccentric. Speaking of that, while he knew Komaeda was his year’s Luckster, he had no idea what Kamukura’s talent was.

“Kamukura-kun, what’s –?”

Komaeda’s hand clamped onto his leg. His nails dug in. Loudly, the cheer in his voice sharper than usual, Komaeda pointed at a person and said, “This one is the Ultimate Yakuza. He doesn’t look like he has much of a bite, but appearances are deceiving.”

Once again, Komaeda’s true intention was clear. Naegi peeked at Kamukura; he didn’t look upset, but if Komaeda was this insistent on changing the subject, Naegi must have been prodding at some sore point. So he let Komaeda redirect his attention to the blond boy who seemed much too short to be a criminal heir.

“His name is Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko,” Komaeda announced proudly, like they were looking at one of his children. “You may have heard of him. It was probably a big deal among the rabble when they confirmed his attendance. I wouldn’t know though because every confirmation is a big deal to me!”

“Isn’t it a little weird to invite someone who’s known to be an important figure in crime?” Naegi asked.

“Hardly,” Kamukura said. “Inviting people such as the Ultimate Yakuza or Ultimate Biker ensures that those groups take an active interest in promoting the academy. It protected Hope’s Peak from attacks by those same criminal organizations.”

Naegi didn’t really get it, but Komaeda was nodding as if it all made sense. Plus, Kamukura sounded sure of what he was saying.

“The girl next to him is Pekoyama Peko, the Ultimate Swordswoman. She’s not much more than his servant and . . . well . . . honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it.” Komaeda brushed a hand through his hair. “I mean it’s completely reasonable for an Ultimate to use people as tools, but to use another Ultimate like that? It kind of rubs me the wrong way.”

“It should!” Naegi exclaimed. “I can’t say I know for sure what you’re talking about, but so far I don’t like it. People aren’t tools. They have thoughts and feelings and . . .”

Previous conversations with Komaeda flashed through his mind, as did Komaeda’s words and opinions regarding himself. With those in mind, Naegi changed track mid-sentence.

“ . . . Komaeda-kun, you _do_ know that, right?”

“How important are feelings when we’re talking about the good of the world?” Komaeda asked easily. “Not very, right? People are always left behind when society advances.”

No. That was wrong. That wasn’t the way the world should work. Naegi placed the photo album aside. Komaeda held his gaze, untroubled.

“They don’t have to be,” Naegi said. “We can support them and bring them along too, can’t we? It might take longer, but then nobody’s forgotten.”

Komaeda did that _laugh._ (Naegi glanced at Kamukura; he didn’t seem bothered). “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Naegi-kun, but you’re a little naïve sometimes. I suppose it fits your nature as a newborn Hope.”

Naegi asked Kamukura, “You don’t agree with him, do you?”

Chin on his knees, Kamukura shrugged. “Society has always been split into tiers. People like us – _talented_ people – are naturally in the upper echelons. We are the ones who shaped the future of this country.  It is the duty of the untalented to realize that, and accept their place.”

Naegi had thought only people far removed from the common folks (such as Togami) thought that way.  He was wrong. Maybe the people who thought that way were just . . . just _cruel_. Disgust welled up in him. He could no longer look Kamukura or Komaeda in the face.

“So you think that way, too,” he murmured.

Something changed in Kamukura’s face. Something small, but it changed a lot; changed the air surrounding him from indifference into triumph. Although Naegi was looking away, he could still see the red of Kamukura’s eyes in his peripheral vision.

Kamukura’s chin lifted off his knee as he sought to catch Naegi’s eye. “Those were direct quotes from my teachers at Hope’s Peak.”

Naegi couldn’t stop his head from turning. “They said that?”

“They _taught_ us that.” Kamukura’s voice was low. Was it from boredom, anger, approval or a simple need to make sure Naegi was listening? With that stoic face, who could tell?

Naegi could only repeat those words to himself. Komaeda patted his shoulder, saying, “I know you can’t remember your time there, but I remember some of my teachers saying similar things.

“You guys believed that.”

It wasn’t a question, but they answered anyways. He expected Komaeda’s enthusiasm. What surprised him was Kamukura, for when he agreed, he did so softly.

“Let’s move on,” Kamukura said loudly, more than making up for his previous weakness. “We are supposed to be discussing our classmates.”

“Sorry!” Komaeda pulled the photo album toward him and turned the pages until he found a picture big enough. “That’s Soda Kazuichi, the Ultimate Mechanic. Monokuma was Enoshima-san’s design, but he’s the one who brought him to life. There’s nobody else in the world that could have done it! You should have seen him. He doesn’t even need to think. It’s so automatic for him and . . . Ah, I’m gushing again, aren’t I?”

“He built Monokuma.” Naegi stared at that pink-haired, shark-toothed face, memorizing it. Part of him wanted to hate Soda, but he couldn’t bring himself to without meeting him personally.

Hanamura Teruteru was next. Apparently, he was the Ultimate Cook who had prepared Naegi’s food. The moment Naegi realized that, he wanted to puke. He’d already known that the Ultimate Cook was in charge of his meals; he’d known that the Ultimate Cook would be a member of Ultimate Despair. But now, with a name and face to attach to a title, those tidbits of knowledge actually took on meaning. They became real. Naegi was being fed by a murderer.

Nidai Nekomaru and Owari Akane were next. One look at their impressive physique, and they were added to the list of people to watch out for (joining Pekoyama). Nidai’s talent came as a complete surprise; Naegi had expected his talent to be an actual sport. Owari’s wasn’t much a of a shock. While her appearance’s similarity to Asahina had biased him towards water sports, gymnastics wasn’t unbelievable by any means.

Then came Tsumiki Mikan, the Ultimate Nurse. In most of her pictures, she was either shying away from the camera or wearing a shaky smile. The way she held herself spoke of fragility and timidness. Naegi didn’t think she looked very dangerous.

Unless Komaeda was lying to him, those were the only Ultimates in this building. None of their talents seemed like they would directly impede an escape attempt, but those three on his list were definitely dangerous. He’d have to be careful, especially if they really were going to try to kill him.

Komaeda talked about the absent Ultimates afterwards. Naegi didn’t listen as closely during that, but focused more on the faces and people. As time went on, one thing became clear: everyone looked so happy and pure. Even the ones that showed them pranking or tormenting a classmates bubbled over with innocent affection, like in those photos of his class Monokuma had occasionally left around the academy. How could anyone have looked at these students and seen evil? How could _every single one of them_ have succumbed to Enoshima’s despair? The more he learned about her exploits, the less human she seemed.

“And that’s the 77th Class of Hope’s Peak Academy!” Komaeda finished, throwing his arms into the air in celebration. “Quite an impressive collection, isn’t it?”

. . . Did Komaeda actually expect to trick him that way? He had watched the broadcast, hadn’t he? He should have known that Naegi tended to notice details – like that Komaeda had failed to introduce a student who appeared only in a single photograph. It had been a small girl with purple hair, who was wearing an animal-eared hoodie. She hadn’t been the subject of the photograph, having been huddled near the back talking to Tsumiki.

Before Komaeda could close the album, he slammed his hand down in the middle of the pages.

“Hold on, there’s something I think you’ve forgotten.”

“Komaeda didn’t miss anyone,” Kamukura said. “That was all of our classmates.”

Naegi hesitated. They would know better than he would. She could have easily been a friend or relative. But, he was curious, and his trial-detail senses were telling him this meant something.

“Back on the third page, there was someone you guys never mentioned.”

As Komaeda flipped through the pages, Kamukura said, “Are you talking about our teacher?”

“I don’t think so,” Naegi said. “She seems too young.”

“This is the third page,” Komaeda said. “I-”

His face suddenly drained of colour.

“Komaeda-kun –?”

“Nothing here!” With a snap, the album shut. “I saw who he was talking about. It was someone from another class.”

“She was talking to Tsumiki-san.”

“She’s the Ultimate Nurse! Everyone with an upset stomach talks to her.”

Naegi reeled back. Komaeda had almost _yelled_ at him. Considering how Komaeda had handled him with kid gloves up to now, it was more than enough to tell Naegi he needed to drop the subject _now_. He had no idea why this girl was such a big deal to the Luckster – she had looked so tiny and harmless! – but if Komaeda, the Ultimate Fanboy didn’t want to talk about her, it couldn’t have been good.

“Sorry, Komaeda-kun,” Naegi said. “I . . .”

“Give it to me.”

They both looked at Kamukura.

“I told you to give it,” Kamukura said. “I want to see it.”

Wordlessly, Komaeda pushed the album toward him. Kamukura snatched it, and opened it to the third page. His brow furrowed as he studied what lay there.

The mood changed. Naegi didn’t know whether it was right to say Komaeda and Kamukura had always been buddy-buddy, but there had never been any doubt they were on the same side. This was different.  There was no friendliness here. Komaeda was shrinking into himself; bringing his arms and legs in close, muscles tensing and becoming defined as his body went on high alert. Kamukura remained still and seated, but his hair seemed to float in an unfelt breeze.

“I told you not to play your games with me.” That wasn’t a human’s tone. No. Kamukura’s echoing voice seemed to be part of the world itself.

They could barely hear Komaeda. “I didn’t know it was there. I-I found it on the floor and thought –”

“Are you blaming this on luck again?”

Komaeda retreated even further into himself. Kamukura began to stand. The white-haired boy turned his head away and raised his arm defensively in front of it –

There was only way this could end.

When had Naegi decided to stand up? He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. Kamukura had risen to his feet, and then Naegi was there, standing between the other two. He had his hands up, trying to project a strength of body he did not possess.

“K-Kamukura-kun, I don’t know what’s going on –”

“No, you don’t.”                                                                      

His legs shook. Naegi may not have been the target, but being between Komaeda and Kamukura was enough. The tension tried to shove him down like an invisible force. Had the room always been this cold?

“I don’t think he did it on purpose.” It took two attempts to get that sentence out. “He tried to hide it from you when he saw what I was talking about. He wouldn’t have done that if he wanted you to see it.”

Kamukura stared over his head at Komaeda’s huddled form. “Did you forget he kidnapped you? You and your friends would have been rescued weeks ago if he hadn’t asked me to interfere. You are here because of _him_. You will never see them again because of _him_. You want this as much as I do.”

“No, I don’t. I know what he’s done, and I hate it. But he . . . even though what he did was terrible, he thought he was doing something good. I don’t . . . I don’t think he hurts us on purpose. I don’t want to see him hurt because of that.”

Was that a chuckle? Maybe. Or maybe it was a cross between one and a scoff. Kamukura shook his head, still staring at Komaeda. “You don’t know what he’s done. What he _will_ do. You can’t make those claims.”

“I don’t need to know much about people to want them safe.”                                       

“Yes, that’s right.” Shadows crisscrossed Komaeda’s face, darkening all but his lower jaw. “You’re Naegi Makoto. You try to save everyone. Even Enoshima Junko, the reason you needed to save people in the first place.”

The simmering pressure infusing the room was dying. Kamukura’s shoulders, broad and flared, started to settle. Naegi had caught his attention, and that appeared to be enough to pacify him.

Kamukura stared at him a few moments longer. “People like you don’t last. They are devoured.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Kamukura did not react to that. He turned around. “I’m leaving.”

Maybe he was finished, but Naegi wasn’t. There was something missing, some point to be addressed that kept nagging at him . . .

“Kamukura-kun?”

Kamukura stopped.

“I _am_ going to see them again.”

Kamukura was still.

“You’ll kill Komaeda yourself one day,” were his last words before he left.

It took half a minute before Naegi calmed down enough to address the last person in the room.

“Komaeda-kun, are you okay?”

There was no answer. Another minute passed, and Komaeda finally unfurled. His spine went first, straightening out even as its owner failed to account for the changing center of gravity, and toppled onto his side. His hands were next, fingers extending and spreading until they resembled fans. Empty eyes positioned over hollow cheeks stared straight ahead.

“Naegi-kun . . . you hate me, don’t you?”

Naegi considered that. He had meant every word he said in Komaeda’s defense. He hated what Komaeda had done to him, what he was doing . . . He wanted . . . he wanted to understand. He wanted to understand Komaeda, why he did the insane things he did, why he felt the need to do this. Because if he did, he could work with Komaeda. They wouldn’t need to be foes, because he . . . he didn’t think Komaeda was a bad person.

His own conclusion was a bit of a shock. But it was true. For all the silent resent Naegi had carried with him, he didn’t think Komaeda was actually a bad person inside. Just . . . confused.

“I don’t hate you,” Naegi said.

Komaeda giggled. “You should, Naegi-kun. I’m filth. I’m no better than the scum on someone’s shoes. I’m just a forgettable extra meant to be killed off in the opening scene.”

“Please don’t say those things about yourself.”

Naegi’s request was greeted with gales of hysterical, fragmented laughter.

“Komaeda-kun, if it’s okay to ask, why is Kamukura-kun so mad at you?”

The laugher stopped. Komaeda’s haunted eyes sunk into their sockets.

“She . . . she tricked me. I thought it would make it better. I thought if he didn’t have to see them . . . if he _forgot_ . . . it would make things better. He would get better. But she lied to me. It didn’t get better. He got worse. It . . . it pushed him over the edge. I didn’t _know_. I didn’t think it could happen to an Ultimate Hope. I . . . I did it. It was my fault.”

“Komaeda-kun . . .” Naegi reached out for him –

And Komaeda cringed away like the hand was a live snake. “I . . . I . . .”

He exploded onto his feet, nearly pushing past Naegi in his mad rush for the door. He was gone before there was any chance of talking to him, or following him out.


	8. The Future Foundation

It’d been over a day since Naegi had a real conversation with someone. Yesterday’s mess between Kamukura and Komaeda had left him exhausted. He’d taken a nap shortly after, and woken later to find dinner waiting on the desk. He saw no one else the rest of the day.

The next morning, Komaeda had shown up with food like usual, but the usually energetic boy was reluctant to speak. He answered Naegi with downtrodden, simple words, and shied away from the younger Luckster like a dog being faced with a rolled-up newspaper. It happened again at lunch and dinner, until _Naegi_ was feeling guilty for Komaeda’s behaviour –even though he knew this had everything to do with what happened with Kamukura and the photo.

He ended up killing time by listlessly wandering around and checking the walls for nonexistent weaknesses. Once there was absolutely no doubt that these walls had not been built with escape in mind, he slumped against one and thought about nothing. The steady ticking of the little clock became a background drone. He wanted to sleep, but couldn’t bring himself to start walking. Finally, he mustered up enough willpower to move, and crawled into bed. He rolled over, turning his back to his half-eaten dinner.

He slept uneasily, waking several times during the night. The last time he did, he awoke freezing and shivering, and he realized he was covered in sweat. He took a shower, but even the hot water failed to warm him. There was a new sort of anxiety consuming him from the inside out.

He poked at the salvaged Monokuma paw after that and to his horror, found that the bear’s sharp claws had not been removed. He immediately hid the paw under his bed – those things were _dangerous_ – and did his best to forget it was there.

When Komaeda came in with breakfast the morning after, it was eight in the morning. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the sight of Naegi lying on his back on the carpet. Naegi mostly ignored him – until he saw Komaeda was smiling.

“Komaeda-kun!” Naegi scrambled up to a sitting position.

“Morning!” the other boy said cheerfully. He was wearing his familiar, warm smile. There was no trace of the misery that had haunted him yesterday.  With this return to familiar ground, Naegi couldn’t help but smile back.

Still, he had to ask. “Are you okay? You were pretty out of it yesterday.”

Komaeda waved his concern off. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. I forgot myself for a while, but I’m better now. Something wonderful is about to happen, after all!”

Wonderful? Naegi wasn’t sure whether to be elated, or terrified. “What do you mean?”

“Well, since picking up that album with that photograph in it was an example of really bad luck, that means I’m due for some good luck any moment now!” He clapped his hands together, looking like a little kid on Christmas Eve. “If we’re really lucky, it’ll be something good for both of us.”

“I’m not following you.”

Komaeda shook his head, tsking under his breath. “And here I thought you were supposed to have Luck as a talent, too. Good luck always comes on the heels of bad luck, just like hope grows in the wake of despair.”

“. . . That’s not how it works.”

Komaeda grinned. Hand on his hip, he looked straight at Naegi and said, “Sorry Naegi-kun, but this is the one area I have something close to expertise in. Let me give you an example. Did you know I won the lottery?”

“Really?” Wow. That _was_ lucky. But hadn’t Komaeda just been talking about how good luck and bad luck went hand in hand –

“It wasn’t even my ticket. I found it in the trash of my kidnappers!”

“. . . What?”

“You could say I was almost the richest person in my class at Hope’s Peak. I didn’t just win the lottery. I had a huge inheritance too, and I got it all paid out when my parents were killed by a meteor!”

A . . . what?

“Do you know how unlikely it is to be hit by a meteor? On a plane? While it was being hijacked! Do you understand how unbelievable it is? It doesn’t happen! If I saw that on a TV show, even I would have said there was no way that could happen.”

The more Komaeda spoke, the more out of breath he became. He hunched over at the waist, shaking, arms wrapped around his stomach as if in pain. With his breathlessness came that wheezy laughter. This time however, it wasn’t scary. It was pitiful.

“That’s terrible,” Naegi said.

“No, no, no! It’s not! It was _good_ luck. That’s why I had so much money! See? It all works out in the end.”

“If your family really was killed, then it wasn’t good luck. No amount of money is worth that.”

Komaeda’s laughter grew steadily in pitch, until his voice cracked and fizzled out to nothing.

“It’s fine, Naegi-kun.” Still keeled over, Komaeda panted. “Everything works out in the end. I’m the Ultimate Lucky Student. When stuff like that happens . . . well, things always get better later, don’t they? That’s how you operate, right? No matter what the Ultimate Despair threw at you, you always looked to the future and hoped everything would be better tomorrow. So, you just have to buck up and wait for that light at the end of the tunnel. Because . . . because that’s what hope is! That’s the point! So, there’s no need to get upset about anything because hope’s always there to make it better!”

Komaeda’s smile was not whole, but more like a crack formed from years of pressure. Was this really how he thought? If he did, then that explained a bit, right? Naegi looked at him now, and saw not someone who was insane or malicious. Just broken.

“Komaeda-kun . . .”

Naegi reached out. His hand stopped halfway. Could he really do this, even after everything the other boy had done?

He looked at Komaeda’s shrivelled form.

Yes, he could.

He reached out, and squeezed Komaeda’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to keep bottling it in and pretending like that,” Naegi said quietly. “I know it bothers you. I know you think I’m too important or something to care, but that’s not true. I’m . . . I’m really sorry you had to go through all that.”

“You . . . why would you even apologize . . .? Ahahahaha, and I’m the one who’s supposed to understand hope . . .”

Komaeda laughed so hard, he fell to his knees

* * *

The office’s dim lights made the old man look weaker than he was. Deep wrinkles accented his age, and the desk he sat at could have just as easily been there for support rather than status. As if further attempting to illustrate the old man’s maturity, a much younger man stood at his side. In a word, the younger man looked sharp; a strong chin formed the foundation of a slender face with long, slanted eyes. Pale skin, silver hair, and ironed, light-coloured clothing banded together for a powerful message: this was not a man who should be taken lightly.

There was one other in the room. This man lingered not close to the others, but leaned against another wall instead. A white fedora sat atop his light brown hair. His relaxed demeanour was a stark contrast to the other two, and he remained that way even after a knock at the door.

The old man spoke. “Kizakura-kun, could you get that?”

The fedora-wearing man walked over to the door, and opened it. Purple eyes greeted him. He smiled at the girl who did not smile back, and moved aside to grant her entry.

Five entered the office. They were directed to five waiting chairs lined up in a small arc before the old man and his desk. The purple-haired girl claimed the center seat (to the dismay of her blond comrade), and the other four positioned themselves around her.

When everyone was settled, the old man spoke. “Thank you all for agreeing to this meeting.”

Kirigiri Kyoko nodded.  “There is no need to thank us. We would like to thank you for providing us shelter.”

Kizakura chuckled. “Is the esteemed Togami Byakuya included in that ‘we’?”

The blond heir scowled, looking off to the side. “Compared to our previous situation, what your organization has provided is . . . adequate.”

Kizakura seemed to find that answer amusing. Perhaps for the good of the conversation, the old man chose to speak again.

“Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Tengan Kazuo, the chairman of the Future Foundation.” With his chin, he pointed to the pale man by his side. “This is Munakata Kyosuke, our second-in-command. He,” he beckoned to the fedora-wearing man, “is Kizakura Kouichi.”

Kirigiri said, “I presume you already know who we are.”

Tengan nodded. “Yes, the names of the Survivor Six are known all across the world.”

The mention of that title had an immediate effect on the students. Kirigiri’s already emotionless expression turned rock-hard. Togami’s jaw tightened. Hagakure cleared his throat, staring at the wall. Fukawa bit her lip and wrung her hands together while Asahina glanced at her fellow classmates nervously.

“W-we all know why you w-wanted to talk to us.” Fukawa spoke in a tone that was both a whisper and a hiss.

“Please, do not mistake our intentions,” Tengan said. “We planned to rescue any survivors regardless of whom they were. However, it is true that we were hoping Naegi Makoto would be among them.”

“Retrieving him was your primary goal, correct?” Kirigiri phrased that as a question, but it was obvious she didn’t need it answered.

Hagakure scratched the back of his head. “I don’t get it. What’s so special about the little guy?”

“Naegi Makoto is the one responsible for the fall of the Ultimate Despair.” For the first time, Munakata had spoken, and his powerful voice sliced through the room like a knife.

“Public relations.” Togami sneered at that, as if that idea was beneath him. “That’s your intention for him.”

“I won’t deny it,” said Tengan. “Whoever directs Naegi-kun would gain considerable influence over the world. Just as important, however, is keeping him out of the hands of those who would abuse that.”

“If he was so important, then why did you wait so long to find us?” Togami demanded.

Tengan sighed heavily. Munakata, on the other hand, bristled as if Togami’s question was a personal insult. He slowly walked out from behind the desk, alternating his gaze between Togami and Kirigiri as he explained. “We had deployed a rescue team by the time you left the academy. What we didn’t know was that the Remnants of Despair had deployed their own agent, Kamukura Izuru. We assume that his mission was to prevent contact between our two groups.”

“One person paralyzed your entire organization,” Kirigiri repeated doubtfully.

“Kamukura Izuru is no ordinary person,” Tengan said. “He is a product of the world’s top scientists and engineers. It may be incorrect to refer to him as human.”

“We are getting off topic.” Munakata glanced sharply at Tengan. “We need to know what happened to Naegi.”

“ . . . It’s my fault.”

All eyes in the world turned to the Ultimate Swimmer. Eyes downcast, head bowed, Asahina blinked back tears as she whispered those three words. She cut off Kirigiri’s attempt at comfort, holding herself tightly as if cold. “If I had been a little bit faster, if I hadn’t been _stupid_ , we could have saved him.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Hagakure said, trying to give Asahina a thumbs-up.

“Th-that’s because it’s your fault, idiot!” Fukawa spat.

“What was that for!?”

Kizakura tipped his fedora up to get a better look at the feuding students. “Anyone else lost here? I think you kids should start from the beginning.”

“Allow me.” Kirigiri put her hands neatly in her lap. “We had discovered an old department store and were hoping to find supplies inside. Because of the large area, we agreed to split into pairs. We were to remain within shouting distance of each other, so I had hoped we would be able to come to each other’s aid, if need be.”

“That was your first mistake,” Togami said, acting as though he had disagreed with the detective’s plans from the beginning. “You never should have let Naegi pair up with that idiot.”

“I don’t recall you objecting,” Kirigiri said sharply.  “Regardless, Naegi-kun chose Hagakure-kun as a partner. He can tell you what happened next.”

They waited. Asahina had to kick Hagakure before he realized it was his turn to speak. “H-huh? Oh, yeah. Me and Naegi were by the back looking for food. I thought I saw a spirit when we walked past one of the aisles, so I went to take a look –”

“You were supposed to stay within arm’s reach of each other,” Kirigiri said through gritted teeth.

“I forgot, okay? Anyways, I kind of lost track of him. But I swear, I went looking for him right away! But . . . uh . . . there was something wrong with him when I found him. He was all woozy, and there was some weird guy with him.”

“What did this person look like?” Munakata asked right away.

“White hair. Hoodie. Uh, kind of tall?”

The three adults in the room exchanged looks, something that was not unnoticed by Kirigiri and Togami.

“What next?” Munakata said.

“Well, umm . . .”

Fukawa pointed an accusing finger straight at Hagakure. “He fled l-like a coward! He didn’t tell any of us until Master stopped him.”

“Come on! What was I supposed to do? The guy had a gun –”

“It didn’t shoot bullets,” Kirigiri said coldly. “He would have used it if it did. Considering Naegi-kun’s state when you found him, the logical conclusion is that the gun shot tranquilizer darts. To follow-up on Hagakure’s story, once I was made aware of what had happened, I was able to deduce their most likely route of escape. It had rained the previous day, so once we were outside, we found footprints telling us where Naegi-kun’s abductor was going. We followed them.”

A mournful silence followed her words. Kirigiri had never been one to express much emotion, but if one looked, they would have seen her hands balled into fists.

“You lost them?” Munakata prompted.

“Because of me.” Asahina spat those words out. “The others couldn’t keep up, so Kirigiri-san and I went after Naegi-kun. We found them. I chased them. I was catching up. I would have caught him, if I hadn’t been _stupid_ . . . I was running through some building and I tripped over something. It pissed me off, so I grabbed it and tried to throw it at the guy who took Naegi-kun . . .”

Silence again.

“My current theory is that the object’s impact was enough to trigger an unexploded landmine,” Kirigiri said. “Whatever it was, it collapsed the building behind Naegi-kun and his abductor, separating us. We were able to find an alternative path, but it took precious time. We followed the trail again, but eventually, I found conclusive evidence that Naegi-kun had been loaded into some sort of vehicle.”

“You lost the kid due to bad luck then, huh?” Kizakura sighed. He lowered his fedora, hiding his eyes.

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Munakata answered.

Four of the five students shook their heads. One, however, did not. Fukawa bit her lower lip nervously. Her face slowly heated up from nerves.

“I-it’s possible that _she_ saw something,” Fukawa said. “But she p-probably didn’t . . .”

“There’s no harm in asking,” Tengan said. “I, for one, have nothing to fear from her.”

Kouchi smirked in Munakata’s direction. “You might want to leave. You could be in danger.”

Munakata scowled at him. He pulled out one of the desk drawers, and took out a small bag. As he dumped some of the contents into his hand, he asked Fukawa, “The personality change is triggered by sneezing, correct? If you’re ready, I would like to speak to Genocider Shou.”

Fukawa closed her eyes. “Okay. But y-you can’t blame me if she slaughters everyone!”

Munakata tossed the powder in her face.

“Ah . . . _Achoo!_ ”

It was immediate.

“Well, what do we have here?” In a flash, Genocider Shou had risen to her feet. On the chair. She towered above everyone as her elongated tongue swished and tasted the air. “This is much nicer place than the last time Gloomy had a blackout. Master, shall we take it from them over their cold, dead bodies?”

“That is unnecessary,” Togami said. “We are partners. For now.”

“ _Kyeehahahaha!_ ” The serial killer’s laugh was like nails on chalkboard. “Someone else has recognized my Master’s brilliance, have they? Just remember . . .” Out came the scissors. “Master is _mine_! So don’t go getting any bright ideas.”

Genocider Shou looked around, basking in the attention like a smug cat. But then, she frowned. “Hey, where’s Mahkyutie?”

Munakata’s eyes narrowed. “Are you talking about Naegi Makoto?”

“Yeah, yeah, Big Mac. Where’d he go?” Something strange passed over the serial killer’s face then, something almost sad. “He didn’t decide to go with the marshmallow, did he?”

“Marshmallow –!“ Several people said that, but it was Kirigiri who asked the actual question:

“You saw the white-haired boy?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean Komaeda Nagito? Yeah, he was one of the students in the upper class. Ultimate Lucky Student or something.”

“What exactly did you see?” Togami demanded.

“Oh, when you ask like _that_ . . . Let’s see.” Genocider Shou tapped her chin. “He was spouting some stuff about taking Naegi to a safe place. Sounded good and all, but then he told me he _only_ wanted to take Naegikins. Bah! As if that scrawny guy deserved a safe place more than my Master. So I told marshmallow to hit the road before I cut him up! Big Mac would never take him up on that anyways.”

Silence followed as the implications of the Genocider’s story were understood.

Shyly, voice brimming with hope, Asahina asked, “Then, does that Naegi-kun is okay?”

Munakata and Tengan exchanged a look.

“Komaeda Nagito is a known member of Ultimate Despair,” was all Munakata said.

Asahina bowed her head again, tears streaking down her cheeks. They all knew the likely fate of those taken by Despair.

“There is no proof that Naegi-kun has been killed,” Tengan said gently. “There is still reason to believe he is alive.”

“How probable is that?” Kirigiri asked quietly.

“Considering the circumstances, it is actually very likely,” Tengan said to the students’ surprise. “Komaeda Nagito has very different motives than the rest of Ultimate Despair. Additionally, if Despair _had_ killed Naegi-kun, they would have broadcasted the execution to the world. Indeed, the very fact that Naegi Makoto’s capture remains a secret from the general public makes me doubt that Komaeda means him harm in the first place.”

Kirigiri’s eyes widened slightly. “Then you are saying  . . .”

“Yes. It is possible to rescue him.”

“Komaeda would have brought him back to their main headquarters,” Munakata said. “If we were to distract the Remnants, it is possible a small tactical team could break in and find him.”

“You’re going to do it, right?” Asahina demanded. She looked ready to join Genocider Shou and stand on her chair. “You’re going to rescue him?”

Tengan said, “Rest assured. We have every intention of removing Naegi Makoto from the grasp of Despair.”


	9. The First Hope

Despite his determination to get out of here, Naegi found himself falling into a routine. Every morning, he woke about an hour before Komaeda would arrive with breakfast. He killed time by cleaning himself up and deciding what, if anything, he wanted to ask the other boy. At almost exactly eight o’clock (Komaeda was very punctual), Komaeda would appear for the first time that day. While Naegi ate, Komaeda would go around the room and clean up. Naegi had tried to convince the older boy that he should take care of that, if only to give him something to do, but Komaeda was insistent that ‘the Ultimate Hope shouldn’t have to dirty his hands with such trivial things’. He did succeed in gaining custody over the washroom’s cleanliness. Komaeda had avoided that room since the beginning out of respect for him.

Although Naegi took his time, he was always done eating before nine o’clock. He would talk to Komaeda after, and judge the Luckster’s mood. So far, Komaeda’s moods had always been clearly defined as ‘happy’, but Naegi couldn’t forget how quickly he could flip.

Once Komaeda left, Naegi would go through Oogami’s exercise routines. That took about two hours, leaving him one hour before lunch. He’d bathe, wring his dirty clothes in the old water to remove the stench of sweat, and hang them on the shower rod to dry (anything to make sure Komaeda didn’t know what he was up to. The Luckster didn’t seem bothered that Naegi’s old clothes were often damp). The next morning, they’d go in the hamper that Komaeda had provided. He’d nap the rest of the hour.

Along with food, at noon Komaeda would bring a box of things he had found in the nearby city. Naegi filled the time between dinner and lunch with those. Every item would be meticulously examined and judged for much longer than necessary. Those he didn’t like would go back into the box. For those he did, he would spend a disproportionate amount of time deciding where it should go. Often, he found himself needing to rearrange everything on the shelves for . . . for whatever reason. Once he was out of new items, he’d try to get some entertainment out of his collection.

After dinner was the worst. There usually wasn’t much to do past that time. Even when he dragged out his conversations with Komaeda as long as he could, that still left him alone for a long time until morning. The first few days were okay; in fact, he was glad for it. But by the end of the week, the sight of Komaeda walking out that door wiped his smile away, and replace it with a cold, empty longing.

It was with that disturbing feeling that he lay down in bed and ended another day. This new life, he had to say, was much more peaceful than he would have ever imagined.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

_BANG!_

Naegi jolted awake.

“Komaeda! Komaeda, get the fuck out here!”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. A siren went off in his mind, wailing that this was not normal and nobody should be here _–_

 _Bang_!

“I know you’ve been stealing my clothes, bastard! What the hell is wrong with you?”

His throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow. The door seemed to rattle with the hard knocks. Any second now, they would unlock the door and . . . and . . .

But then the other person’s tone changed. His speech became faster, quieter but still as forceful. And if Naegi listened closely, he thought he could hear Komaeda speaking, too. That . . . that wasn’t much better. But Komaeda would protect him, right?

An urge to hide consumed him. He half-crawled into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Inside the room itself, there was nowhere to hide. So, he sat in the centre of the floor, making himself as small as possible.

Some minutes later, he heard the door to the bedroom open. Not long after, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

“Naegi-kun, you need to come out now.”

He was _so_ glad to hear Komaeda’s voice.

Naegi opened the door, and Komaeda immediately grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bedroom.

“I’m really sorry if I woke you up, but we have to go.”

“G-go?” Naegi echoed, unintentionally planting his feet as Komaeda pushed him towards the room’s exit. “What’s going on?”

“Somebody’s coming,” was all Komaeda said. “I need to move you.”

Move? They were going somewhere else? Then that meant he’d finally be able to leave this room . . .

Was this the time to run?

Komaeda grabbed the doorknob leading to the outside.

It turned.

A plane of black greeted his hungry eyes, dissolving into dark outlines and shades as his eyes adjusted. Orange-red lights, like torches, lined the hallway that stood directly outside the bedroom. Naegi stared. The cool air that glided past his face tasted sweeter than the freshest wind. Komaeda stepped through the threshold and they lost contact for an instant.

Naegi made his move. While Komaeda’s back was turned, he slipped out behind him, and bolted in the other direction –

And yelped, ankle caving as something hard and pointed dug into his instep. He slammed into the rough ground sideways, gasping as his arm fell on a set of pebbles.

“Naegi-kun!”

Naegi squeezed his eyes shut; not just out of pain, but also from shame. He’d barely taken two steps. He’d made so little progress that Komaeda didn’t even seem to realize his captive had tried to run. Instead, Komaeda was fretting over him between those moments where he glanced nervously down the hallway. Talk about a heap of bad luck.

“Naegi-kun, I hope you can forgive me for touching you so unashamedly.”

What was that-?

An involuntary squeak escaped him as Komaeda hauled him up and over his shoulder. Naegi dangled there like a sack, grabbing onto the back of Komaeda’s shirt so the jostling motion of the older boy’s run wouldn’t throw him.

“I forgot I took your shoes,” Komaeda said, somehow maintaining a regular speaking tone while he was running. “We’ve been attacked a few times here – nothing successful; it was usually desperation – and nobody’s ever bothered to clean up all the little pieces of debris in the hall. What an idiotic mistake. I’m so worthless!”

Another time, another place (another relationship between them), Naegi might have said something about how Komaeda was not worthless. But this time, he was too busy trying to memorize the building’s interior. They’d taken a right at the first hallway’s end, leading into a second hallway very similar to the one they’d just gone through. He couldn’t determine the colors of the halls and floor, but they looked smooth, like the floors you might find in a school. The hallway lights left plenty of shadows, although Naegi doubted that they would conceal him. Maybe if he crouched, though? There was a reasonably-sized strip near the bottom of the walls that the lights didn’t reach.

Komaeda turned right again, and Naegi had to shield his eyes from the sudden light. The left wall had opened up into a row of windows, all facing the bright moon. It bathed them in a silver glow, and illuminated the land outside. It did not look as disastrous as the world outside Hope’s Peak did; that made sense since Ultimate Despair probably used things and buildings from this city. Enough damage existed, however, that Naegi knew getting through there would be no easy trek.

 _But if I do get out there, I should be able to hide easily,_ he thought to himself. The assurance made his hope swell. Yes, he could do this!

The windows ended. Komaeda reached his destination. He knocked on a plain door and waited patiently, Naegi still slung over his shoulder.

The door opened.

Kamukura stared at them.

Komaeda chuckled nervously. “Surprise!”

Komaeda still hadn’t put Naegi down by the time he walked into the center of Kamukura’s room. That gave him a nice view of the door when Komaeda started explaining.

“Kuzuryu-kun!”

What kind of explanation was -?

Kamukura said, “That was obvious.”

Apparently, an explanation sufficient for Kamukura Izuru.

“I predicted your arrival would be a minute ago,” Kamukura said. “What happened?”

Komaeda answered, “Naegi-kun tripped.”

Naegi twisted, trying to face Komaeda. “I did, but that’s not very important right not. What’s going on?”

“I had to get your clothes from somewhere, and Kuzuryu-kun is the only one around your size,” Komaeda said with a bright smile. “He’s figured out what I’ve been doing. But it’s fine. They won’t figure out _why_ I took them. They think I’m crazy.”

_. . . Geez, I wonder why they would think that._

Komaeda slowly lowered Naegi to the ground. He had kept his hands on Naegi’s back so that Naegi didn’t tip off, and those same hands had slowly moved up until they sat atop his shoulders. They stood like that now: Komaeda’s spidery hands gripping Naegi’s shoulders, Naegi looking up at him. The white-haired boy beamed as his eyes closed; it would have been sickeningly adorable on a child.

“Don’t worry about the clothes,” Komaeda told him. “I can get more, but they might not match. I’ll come back for you in the morning. That’s okay right, Kamukura-kun?”

“Do whatever you want.”

Naegi glanced backwards at Kamukura, confused and a little frightened. Last time he saw Kamukura, he’d honestly thought the older boy might attack Komaeda. Now here they were, together again, speaking easily with each other. It was as if their last spat never happened. Had they apologized and made up when Naegi wasn’t there? Was Kamukura even capable of that? Naegi had a creeping feeling he wasn’t. Which meant . . . what? They’d both silently agreed to move past it? Wiped it from their minds?

. . . Could Kamukura simply have grown _bored_ of being angry?

Somehow, that last possibility was the most terrifying.

“Try not to get yourself killed, okay?” Komaeda said that lightly, like he was warning Naegi to wear a jacket outside because it was raining. He leaned forward, as if to touch their foreheads together, before running out the door.

Kamukura walked toward the door. He looked hard at Naegi. Very deliberately, he took a key out of his pocket and locked it.

“It would be cheating,” he said. Translation: don’t even try slipping away tonight. “Sleep in the bathtub.”

“ . . . I’d rather just take the floor. At least it has a carpet.”

Kamukura shrugged, returning to his bed. “For about a second, things weren’t boring.”

“He keeps thing interesting for you,” Naegi said bitterly.

“You can’t predict luck. It’s irrational.”

Naegi said nothing. He looked around Kamukura’s room instead. It was similar to his prison, with the same kind of furniture and wallpaper, but there were some major differences. Kamukura’s floor was covered with litter; open books were scattered around, pages crumpled as if they had been tossed aside. Objects, mostly puzzles, lay randomly upon the shelves and desk, all solved. Naegi leafed through a large Sudoku book, asking, “How long did it take you to do all this?”

“Ten minutes.”

The book slipped from his hands. “How?”

“They were easy. It was boring.”

Those didn’t look easy. And ten minutes . . . Kamukura couldn’t have even taken time to think about any of the puzzles.

Naegi blinked and wrenched his eyes away from the book. He directed them toward the most important difference between their rooms, the sight that had made his breath catch when he first saw it.

A window.

The coolness of the outside world radiated from the glass. Naegi put his hand against it, and fumbled with his other one for a latch. He wasn’t going to jump – they were on the second floor – he just wanted to feel the outside. To know it wasn’t all in his head. He found the lock finally, and the window swung open. He stuck his head out; the moonlight falling upon his face felt like being kissed by the sun.

His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut, biting his lip. It was okay . . . he was going to be okay . . . he couldn’t break down here. He had to focus. He had to keep going.

He opened his eyes. The windows in the hallways had given him a good look at the surrounding city, but this new vantage point let him see the area around the building that held him. To his dismay, he found it rather bare and flat – probably to hinder any attackers. There was no doubt that the city would be easy to hide in, but the stretch before he reached that point was an entirely different matter. He’d be right in the open. Barring some good luck, a daytime escape was right out of the question. And night wasn’t looking that great either. From up here, he could see a few figures patrolling the ground. He wouldn’t bank on his ability to outrun them.

. . . He’d worry about that later. His chin rested on the window edge as he basked in the glow of the world he so desperately wanted to return to.

_I hope everyone else is okay._

Seeing the wreckage made him think about how harsh it was surviving out there. How hard it was for his friends right now, especially if they planned to mount some kind of rescue operation. He almost wished they wouldn’t. It seemed like he’d only caused trouble ever since they left Hope’s Peak.

Suddenly tired, he sat down against the wall under the window. Kamukura was lying on the bed on the other side of the room, staring at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head. Naegi brought his legs in, crossing them, uncomfortable with letting any of his limbs hang out where they were vulnerable . . . not that he expected Kamukura to start gnawing on them or anything.

He fidgeted. His bruised foot still throbbed a little. It was dull, though. It wouldn’t get in the way of his escape. He’d have to be more careful in the future about where he put his feet –

It hit him then. How was he going to deal with his lack of shoes once he hit the outside? He’d been out there. It wasn’t soft. It was hard and pointy and jagged. He’d slice his feet up if he tried to run.

Good thing he’d caught this.

 _. . . Maybe tripping on that rock was_ good _luck rather than bad luck._

Kamukura wasn’t paying attention. So, Naegi slunk around the edges of the room, searching. When he found what he needed, he snatched them up and hid them in his hoodie.  He turned quickly; Kamukura didn’t seem to have noticed. He hadn’t moved an inch –

“Put them back.”

Naegi merely clutched Kamukura’s shoes closer to himself. “Komaeda-kun took mine. There’s no point in trying to escape if I can’t replace them.”

A few seconds passed before Kamukura sighed. “Fine.”

A long, awkward silence followed. It was so awkward that Naegi had to break it.

“What are you doing?”

“. . . Are you blind?”

Naegi blinked. “Sorry, it didn’t look like you were doing anything –”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh.” Naegi shifted, positioning his arm under the shoes so they wouldn’t fall out of his hoodie. “Isn’t that boring?”

“Everything’s boring,” Kamukura said, and his monotone voice made Naegi think he meant it, too.

“You’ve read all these books?” Naegi asked, gesturing to the scattered novels around him.

“The plots were predictable,” he said. “The twists were obvious.”

Naegi scanned a few of the titles and upon recognizing them, knew that wasn’t true. Or it wasn’t supposed to be.

“What about hobbies? Do you have any?” Naegi asked.

“There’s no point,” Kamukura said. “Once you’ve mastered something, it becomes boring.”

“But how long does it take -?”

He sighed again. “I was born with that mastery.”

“H-how?”

Kamukura’s head turned a little. “You never asked Komaeda about my talent.”

“I tried once, but Komaeda-kun didn’t want me to ask.”

“Because I was there. You could have asked after I left.”

“But if Komaeda-kun didn’t want me to know, that means it was private, doesn’t it? It would have been rude to make him tell me. . .”

Kamukura’s head fully turned. “You are exceptionally bad at this. Very few people purposely sabotage their own escape.”

“I’m not . . . I just wanted to be polite . . .” His cheeks were growing red. “Hey, Kamukura-kun, does that mean you don’t mind telling me your talent?”

“I _am_ talent.” Kamukura returned to staring at the ceiling.

“I don’t understand.”

“I was designed for the sole purpose of acquiring talent. It doesn’t matter how obscure or complex the skill. I am the personification of talent itself: a level entirely above you Ultimates.”

It both made sense and didn’t make sense. It matched what he knew about Kamukura, but that still left the question of _how_. People weren’t just born like that, were they? But, there was what Komaeda had said . . .

“Kamukura-kun . . . you were the first Ultimate Hope, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Naegi said nothing else.

Clouds gathered in the sky, eclipsing the moon.  A light rain fell.  Naegi pulled himself to his feet and looked through the window at the lost city outside. He held his hand out, cupping the raindrops in his palm as they bounced off the glass near it with sharp _plinks_. Though the water looked clean, it smelled polluted. He brought his arm back inside and watched lifelessly as droplets weaved through his fingers and landed upon the carpet.

“Kamukura-kun, why did you help her?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Although he doubted Kamukura would see it, he shrugged.

“Kamukura-kun, if you have all this talent, could you fix everything? Could you reverse whatever Enoshima-san did?”

“Why would I want to? That world holds nothing for me.”

Naegi swallowed down his automatic protest. He didn’t want to yell, and he didn’t want Kamukura to get mad at him. The sound of the rain and the glow of the moonlight had given him a sense of sereneness that was rare to come by in these days.

He looked over his shoulder at Kamukura. “You’re going to keep plunging the world into despair, then?”

Kamukura said, “I don’t plan to help either way.”

“Than what are you going to do? I mean, to have all that talent and do nothing with it . . . doesn’t that make it all meaningless?”

“Meaningless?” Arms uncrossed as red eyes flashed.

“People aren’t made up of their talents,” Naegi said. “That’s just a piece of them. It’s what they do, or don’t do with them that matters. Using your talent to change things, to bring hope . . . that’s what really decides what a person is. So, to do nothing with a talent and just use it for yourself, that would make that talent itself worth nothing, too.”

Kamukura didn’t answer right away. He took so long, that Naegi grew anxious and had to prompt him.

“. . . I knew someone else who thought that way. Someone else who didn’t believe talent alone was the answer,” Kamukura said. He stared at his raised hand, frowning, slowly moving his fingers as if unsure they belonged to him.

Naegi was quiet. He was unsure if he had offended Kamukura.

The older boy never looked at Naegi, or spoke to him afterwards. With the conversation effectively over, Naegi crawled into a corner, curled up, and tried to fall into a fitful sleep.

(If he had opened his eyes later that night, he might have realized that Kamukura had spent most of it watching him).


	10. The Ultimate Unlucky Student

“. . . Aww, look at him! Isn’t he adorable?”

“Komaeda, just because he received his title a month ago doesn’t make him only a month old.”

“It might as well. It’s not like anyone cares about _that_ Naegi-kun. The new, improved version is much more popular!”

Naegi stirred. He could sense Komaeda above him, and he could definitely hear Komaeda cooing. He wasn’t quite sure where Kamukura was, but if experience was anything to go by, he was probably in bed staring at the ceiling.

Something soft was touching his cheek. Still half-asleep, his arm lazily flopped out and pulled it in close. He shifted. His eyes snapped open when he remembered he was hiding a pair of shoes within his hoodie and Komaeda was _right there_. Thankfully, he had curled up into a ball before falling asleep, and his knees did a pretty good job at hiding the bulge.

Oh, yeah. That soft thing? It was another Monokuma plushie.

. . . Naegi wasn’t a violent person, but sometimes he really wanted to punch Komaeda in the face.

“Did you have a good sleep?” Komaeda asked him. He was bent over Naegi, hands on his knees.

“I slept on the _ground_.”

For a moment, Komaeda seemed troubled. Soon enough, however, that bright smile lit up his face again. “You’ll be back in your bed soon. Come on, let’s go!”

“What are you -? Hey! Stop touching me!”

“How else am I supposed to carry you? I don’t want you to step on something again.”

And carrying him, he was. There wasn’t much Naegi could do to fight it, since his arms were wrapped around his abdomen to hide the shoes. They must have made a funny couple: Komaeda, giddy enough for an entire crowd of people, and a scowling Naegi being carried bridal-style. The scene was interesting enough that Kamukura glanced their way.

“Won’t I be seen like this?” Naegi muttered.

“It’s fine. That bad luck we had yesterday with Kuzuryu-kun means everything will work out today. We won’t run into anyone.”

Naegi really didn’t get how this whole luck thing worked, but both Komaeda and Kamukura seemed to agree that the older Luckster knew what he was doing. Komaeda nudged the door open with his foot, and then the two were on their way, Komaeda with his chest thrust out proudly. He walked with a sharp, brisk gait, the gait of one who knew they were accomplishing something special.

Because, Naegi knew, Komaeda really did think holding him hostage was that important.

The city ruins looked different in the daytime. Night had hid the extent of the damage, and had given the world beyond the windows an ethereal glow. But that silver moonlight was gone, and in its place came the brown of decay, the black of soot and destruction, and the red of fire. The bright sky mocked those below, taunting them with the promise of a calm day.

Naegi wrenched his eyes away. He squirmed uneasily.

“Komaeda-kun, what happened yesterday?”

“Nothing interesting,” he said. “You’re going to have to wait a bit before I can find you a new set of clothes, though.”

“Was he mad?”  Naegi asked, a little worried about the answer. Last he’d checked, Komaeda had been stealing clothes from the Ultimate _Yakuza_.

“Definitely!” Komaeda laughed. “He  . . . ugh . . .”

Komaeda suddenly lurched forward, arms dropping. Naegi was only saved from hitting the ground by a tremendous effort from the white-haired boy. Komaeda panted afterwards, face pale.

“S-sorry,” he said. “It hurts to laugh right now. I can’t help myself though. I’m so happy when I get to speak with you.”

_Hurts to laugh . . .?_

Naegi asked, “Are you injured?”

“I think I have a couple of bruised ribs. I’m fine.”

He certainly wasn’t. People shouldn’t sag that much, even when carrying someone. Komaeda certainly hadn’t been like this when he had been hauling Naegi around before. The injury must have happened yesterday, probably during whatever confrontation he had with Kuzuryu. Yet, although Komaeda’s steps were now marked with a grimace, he refused to release his burden – even when Naegi offered to walk.

Naegi began to speak, hoping it would help Komaeda think about something other than the pain. “If Kuzuryu-kun thought you stole his clothes, why did he knock on my door?”

“Huh? Oh, I thought you figured that out a while ago. You’ve been staying in my room . . . You want to know where I’ve been if you’ve been sleeping in my room, right? I’ll let you have three guesses first.”

“I know you’re next door,” Naegi said, “but I’m not very familiar with this place, so I don’t know what that is.”

“Ah, that’s right. It’s a storage closet; the perfect place for rubbish nobody cares about.”

“. . . You’ve been living in a closet.”

Komaeda’s arm curled further around his body, clutching Naegi tighter to himself. “It’s fine. No price is too high when it comes to the sake of the Ultimate Hope. It’s an honour to make that sacrifice for you. Besides, I only got that room because of my classmates’ overwhelming generosity; it’s only right that I give it up when someone more worthy comes along.”

“But it’s your room. . .” Yet Naegi knew even before he had spoken that it was useless. Komaeda fully believed everything he had said.

True to the white-haired boy’s word, they didn’t run into any problems on the way back. Komaeda carried Naegi right into the room, past the desk with a patiently waiting meal, and laid him gently on the bed. Arms still locked around his abdomen, Naegi blinked up at him, unsure what he was allowed to do now.

“Home sweet home,” Komaeda murmured. “I’m really sorry about last night. You can catch up on your sleep now.”

“Uh, okay . . . I’m just going to run to the bathroom!”

He did, moving fast enough that Komaeda couldn’t see what he was hiding. Once the door closed behind him, he let the shoes drop, stashed them in the bathtub and drew the curtain. He backed up against the door, checking if they were visible from there.

It would do for now.

 _Kamukura has bigger feet than me, but I should be able to pad his shoes with the stuff Komaeda keeps giving me._ He nodded to himself, pleased with his plans.

Komaeda was leaning against the wall when he came out, one hand on his ribs. There was no trace of pain in that smile, however, although the older boy’s voice was a little wheezy.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll leave you alone now,” Komaeda said.

As he staggered toward the exit, Naegi watched him, stomach sinking. A familiar wave of pity welled up inside him.

“Komaeda-kun, I don’t think you should be walking around right now.”

Komaeda gave him a wavering smile. “I hate to be a burden, Naegi-kun.”

“But . . .” _But you’re injured, and you’re probably going to go live in that closet again. Even though this is your room. . ._

Naegi took a deep breath, and straightened up. “Komaeda-kun, it would make me happy if you stayed here for now.”

Komaeda froze, completely taken off-guard. “. . . Stay?”

“You shouldn’t be walking around,” Naegi said firmly. “You . . . I want you to lie down and rest. Here. In your bed. Not in a closet or anything.”

Komaeda’s smile was clearly forced and tinged with fear. “ _Your_ bed, Naegi-kun.”

“Then I want you to lie down in my bed.”

“Rest under the same covers as the Ultimate Hope . . . That’s . . . that’s impossible.” The smile was still there, but it was much too wide and showed too much teeth. “I couldn’t do that to you. Even thinking about tainting your bed with my filthy self makes me want to puke! It’s disgusting! I should be punished for thinking about it.”

“It sickens me that you’re going to keep walking around like that!” Naegi shot back. “You said you would leave if there was nothing I wanted. Well, there is something I want. I want you to stop hurting yourself and lie down!”

Komaeda was making this weird, hiccupping sound, like a skipping record. His eyes were big and terrified and he was looking at Naegi like . . . like _Naegi_ was the kidnapper here.

Time for a different approach. Naegi said, “You said you were going to protect me, right? How can you do that when you can barely walk? What if something really bad happens and you can’t do anything because you’re too hurt? You need to rest. For the sake of the Ultimate Hope, you need to lie down in that bed!”

There. That last line should have done it. He could almost see the gears struggling to turn in Komaeda’s brain. Then, all at once, they jerked into action as Komaeda’s whole body shuddered.

“I . . . I got it!” Komaeda staggered over to the bed as fast as he could. Clearly swallowing down giggles, he draped himself sideways over the foot of the bed, and put a hand over his mouth. To himself, he whispered, “This is where the _dog_ sleeps. It’s no big deal.”

It was probably the most cooperation he would get from Komaeda. Naegi would have sat on the bed with him, but he suspected that would cause Komaeda to freak out again. So, he pulled up the desk’s chair to the foot of the bed, and sat.

“Komaeda-kun, do you mind if I look at your ribs?”

Komaeda stared at him. Then, his lips stretched into a razor-sharp grin. “. . . You want me to strip for you, Naegi-kun?”

WHAT.

 “N-no! NO! I don’t-”

“Sorry, sorry! I thought it would be funny. I wanted to lighten the mood and make you laugh a little . . . it wasn’t a very good joke.”

Naegi put his face in his hands. He almost regretted forcing Komaeda to stay here. Almost.

“Just . . . I’m going to look at your ribs now.”

He pulled up Komaeda’s shirt. The older boy’s terrible joke echoed in his ears, making Naegi _very_ careful not to touch any skin. There, across the lower part of Komaeda’s right rib cage lay a purple and black bruise, spread out like a hand. It looked painful. Naegi had no idea how Komaeda had hid it for so long.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Komaeda said, eyes glimmering. “She could have easily killed me or broken them, but the Ultimate Swordswoman knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Naegi said, “Just try not to move too much, okay?”

“For you, Naegi-kun, I’d stop my heart from beating.”

Deep breath. Just . . . deep breath.

Naegi automatically moved to the other side of the room, and sat down. He grabbed one of the dog-eared books Komaeda had found him, and opened it. It was a book he’d read before, back before the world went insane, and a little too childish for his tastes, but that was fine. Better than nothing. And it was nice to be able to clear your mind for a while.

He finished the novel before long. He set it down on his lap, and stared across the room at Komaeda. The Luckster’s eyes were closed. He almost looked peaceful, until Naegi noticed how tense his neck was.

“Komaeda-kun, you don’t need to martyr yourself for me.”

“I don’t mind,” Komaeda said, eyes still closed. “There’s no victory without sacrifice.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to lie there in pain like that. You have an Ultimate Nurse here, don’t you? Can’t you get painkillers from her?”

“Tsumiki-san would want to make it worse,” Komaeda muttered. Then, his eyes opened. “But since I am a member of Ultimate Despair, I could tell her it’s more despair-inducing for the world in the long run if she helps me . . . if, of course, she feels like degrading herself to the level of helping me. I should probably practice my grovelling.”

“Umm . . .” Just how was he supposed to respond to that?

“. . . I really shouldn’t be bothering her with my insignificant problems though,” Komaeda finished, the accent at the end making it clear that this was the end of his internal debate.

“Yes, you should!” Naegi said. “Because if you don’t, I’ll . . . I won’t eat anything until you do!”

The look Komaeda gave him was almost a glare. “Resorting to threats? That’s . . . depressing. Still, I suppose I should listen before you try something more drastic. I’ll be back.”

He pulled himself up slowly, and made his way toward the door. Naegi watched him go with the dawning numbness of someone who had just made a fantastic discovery.

He had a weapon to use against Komaeda. _Himself_.

What if he simply decided to starve himself? Naegi wasn’t quite ready to try something like that, but if he were, would it force Komaeda to let him go? Or . . . or he could hold himself hostage! He could tell Komaeda he’d hurt himself unless . . . never mind. He definitely couldn’t do something like that, and Komaeda probably knew that.

He wasn’t sure what to do with this newly found knowledge, but it had to mean something.

When Komaeda returned, he definitely looked better. Naegi went through what he could of his daily routine while Komaeda rested nearby. It turned out that the other Luckster could be quiet and unassuming (or maybe he just thought Naegi wanted him to be like that) so it wasn’t as awkward as he feared.

Dinner came and went. Night approached. Naegi found a use for his newly found knowledge and bullied Komaeda into spending the night – it’d be no good for him to go curl up in a closet and undo any healing he’d managed today. They were both lucky that Naegi was so short, as even when he stretched himself out, his feet didn’t touch Komaeda. Still, Naegi was keenly aware of the other boy’s presence.

. . . He fell asleep easier than expected.

* * *

One day of rest appeared to be the maximum for Komaeda. No matter what Naegi tried, he couldn’t convince Komaeda not to go on his daily hunt for gifts to bring his prisoner. The most Naegi was able to do was talk Komaeda into scouring the building rather than the tangled ruins.

That left him alone again, and he stared at the door for a complete minute, at a loss. Finally, he shook himself out of his stupor, and returned to his familiar routine.

At one point during his pre-lunch nap, he woke with the thought that he heard something. And he must have, because the door opened right after. Naegi stirred. This . . . hold on. This didn’t feel right. It was too early. Perhaps the pain had been enough that Komaeda retired early. He should probably make room –

“Umm, Komaeda-kun, I brought you more pain medication.”

Naegi had already turned his head before he realized what was happening.

Tsumiki Mikan, the Ultimate Nurse and member of Despair, stood before him. Her eyes were wide with shock as she realized that no, Komaeda hadn’t dyed his hair.

“Who are . . .? Who are you?!” A loud whine escaped from the nurse as she pulled at long strands of black hair.

He should be scared, shouldn’t he? But he wasn’t. His thoughts were dim and distant, like it was all a dream . . .

“Who are you?!” Tsumiki shrieked.

Terror stabbed him in the chest. His body exploded in one burst of adrenaline, sending him over the bed’s edge and onto the ground, where he huddled close to its side. Was she coming? She hadn’t recognized him, right? What was he supposed to do now?

Where was Komaeda?

He choked on his own breath. He couldn’t see her. She couldn’t see him.

Until she could. Tsumiki walked around the end of the bed, until there was nothing between them.

“. . . I know you. You’re _him_.”

And the world stopped as her panic and weakness were replaced by pure steel.

“ _You’re Naegi Makoto!_ "


	11. The Mastermind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, these next two chapters will probably be the ones that make or break the story. Here goes nothing!
> 
> Also, I have neither played nor seen Another Episode. So if a certain part of this chapter seems off, that's probably why.

Something dripped in the desolate room. The floors were made of weathered, cold tiles; the walls, of blank concrete. Hidden deep within the bowels of the building, no natural light could penetrate this lair. A single overhead light, suspended over a flat, metal table, illuminated the room. The light tapered off into darkness before it hit the walls, making the space itself appear endless. Upon the table, there lay restraints: leather loops caked with old blood.

The room’s thick door squealed as it opened. A short person in a suit entered. His fedora hid his face, save for a pair of red eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. The boy stepped aside and held the door open, watching as a much bigger, much stronger being crossed over the threshold. This newcomer held something tight within his powerful hands, something that cried and whimpered and thrashed. With a grunt, the newcomer tossed his victim into the center of the room, and Naegi Makoto hit the ground hard before scrambling underneath the table.

“You little shit!” bellowed the Ultimate Coach. “I can’t believe he was here the whole time!”

Naegi wrapped himself around one of the table’s legs, and squeezed his eyes shut. _Please_. _Please please please pleasepleaseplease_ -

“Why are we standing here? Let’s smash his head in!” shouted the Ultimate Gymnast. Although her skin hung off her skeletal frame, there was still power in the fist that smashed into her other palm.

Naegi could _feel_ the step of the Coach as he began to take the Gymnast up on her suggestion.  But then the Ultimate Yakuza stopped that cold, saying, “Are you guys serious? You want to kill him just like that?”

“He’s going to die anyways, so let’s get it over with!”

“Use your fucking brain a little! It’s stupid to kill him without taking advantage of this.”

“Yes.” That quiet voice oozed so much menace, that Naegi was compelled to look. The Ultimate Nurse glowered at him, a palpable miasma of danger surrounding her. “He murdered my beloved. Death is _much_ too good for him!”

They stared at him like starving animals. All he could see were the predators surrounding him. Even when his eyes closed, he saw those red eyes in the darkness. He pressed closer to the table; his sweat-soaked hands slid down its leg.

A single figure separated from the crowd, and pulled out a gleaming sword. “Young Master, what is it you wish me to do?”

“Didn’t you listen to a single word I said? I said not to kill him!”

“I am aware, I wanted –”

“But you never listen, right? You’re so fucking useless, Peko. I don’t know why I bother keeping you around!” The more insults the Ultimate Yakuza flung at his subordinate, the more excited and gleeful his voice became.

“ . . . My apologies. Please forgive me, Master.” Her eyes cast downward, the Ultimate Swordswoman stepped back.

Kuzuryu kept slinging abuse at Pekoyama as she withdrew back to his side. But there were blades other than hers to fear. The Ultimate Cook was circling the table, knife in hand, eyes cold. And those metal tools attached to the Ultimate Mechanic’s belt weren’t anything to scoff at.

 “Well, if you guys don’t want to kill him, then what should we do?” asked Soda, scratching his head with a wrench.

 (“ _This is why you’re just a tool, Peko. Because you’re a useless waste of-_ ”)

Somebody made a suggestion. It was horrible. The second suggestion was even more so. Chills swept down Naegi’s back; his arms locked into place. The world was spinning - 

“I want him to suffer.”

Tsumiki’s breath was icy cold on his neck. He flinched away, still keeping himself attached to the table leg, unwilling to release his grip on the one stable thing he had.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said. Wild eyes darted back and forth, trying to keep track of everyone. Tsumiki’s face was a blur to him. “I tried to –”

“He’s talking!” the coach yelled. “He’s going to start preaching!”

Pointed teeth gashed together. “Gah! Shut up! Keep your dumb speeches to yourself.”

He only saw a flash. The wrench slammed into his temple and black exploded in his vision. Something hot and wet pooled under him. He didn’t even feel the impact when he hit the ground.

Somebody pulled him. He couldn’t tell whom; doubles danced before his eyes. The overhead light was blinding. What was happening?

The back of his skull smacked against the tabletop. A sickening pain rolled through his body, and he coughed up bile. With an almost audible pop, the world slid back into focus, and his brain reorganized itself and began to understand –

“. . . cut it out and stuff it down his throat,” said the cook. “It’ll be like making him choke on his own words, hmm?”

A rock-hard grip closed around his right ankle and left wrist. A rush of bodies surrounded him. He didn’t . . . what was going on? He didn’t know. But he fought anyways. His arms and legs thrashed in the little space they had, uncaring of what or whom they hit. And when they started to handle the leather restraints, he screamed and fought harder.

But then the Gymnast had his legs, and the Coach, his arms. His back shrieked as they drew him straight. The Cook approached, knife held high as the Yakuza ordered his mouth to be held open. It took them a couple of tries (“He bit me!” yelped the Mechanic), but then the Nurse’s long fingers were digging into the inside of his bottom lip, as his jaw twitched and fought to stay closed –

“. . . Really? This is the best a group of Ultimates could come up with? It’s just so . . . disappointing.”

The knife lowered.

Naegi bit back a sob. Ultimate Despair was glaring at the intruder, poised like a pack of wolves about to go on the attack.

“Sh-shut up!” Tsumiki screeched. “I found him in your room!”

Komaeda shrugged easily. He idly picked at his sleeve. “Of course you did. It was so despair inducing to watch you wonderful people fighting so hard to find him when he was right under your noses -”

“Yeah? Well, we found him!” Soda said. “So, you can go away, you . . . you hope-obsessed freak!”

A couple of people gasped at the insult. Komaeda stared blankly at Soda. He had yet to glance in Naegi’s direction, and Naegi found himself searching desperately for the other’s eyes, begging Komaeda to look back at him, to give him a sign that he was going to help. . .

“To think that the Ultimates could be so short-sighted . . .” Komaeda sighed heavily. He seemed annoyed with the proceedings. “And here I thought your loyalty to Enoshima-san surpassed mine.”

The vice-grip around Naegi’s limbs slackened. Soda’s mouth had dropped open. Tsumiki’s fingers withdrew from Naegi’s mouth, leaving crescent-shaped cuts behind. She raised a shaking arm, and pointed straight at Komaeda.

“How dare you!”

Komaeda smiled, but it was a type of smile Naegi had never seen before. It was a smile made of scorn and impatience, more suited to Kamukura’s face – if the former Ultimate Hope were capable of such expression.

“I thought you loved her, Tsumiki-san,” Komaeda said. “Or is it possible you haven’t realized you’re about to destroy the last of her?”

“W-what?” Tsumiki’s face was grey.

“Naegi, come here.”

He listened. He kicked out, and neither Nidai nor Owari stopped him from wrestling free. He threw himself at Komaeda, burrowing into his side, hiding within Komaeda’s baggy hoodie. His arms wrapped tight around the Luckster, hands grasping fistfuls of fabric as blocked the rest of Ultimate Despair from sight. Komaeda . . . Komaeda had come for him. Komaeda would shield him.

Komaeda hardly reacted. After a few moments, his hand tangled in Naegi’s hair. His thumb swiped back and forth, stroking comfortingly, like a master acknowledging a needy pet.

“Ah, you’ve made him wet himself.” Naegi didn’t even mind that Komaeda said that loud enough for everyone to hear. How could be ever be upset with the other boy now?

“Hey!” Kuzuryu shouted. “Explain what you were saying before.”

“You need me to help you again? Very well.” Komaeda shifted slightly, moving Naegi further out of the direct sight of Despair. “The Ultimate Detective, the Ultimate Swimmer . . . all of them existed before the Tragedy and Despair. Except for Naegi-kun. Enoshima-san created him with her own two hands.”

“So what?” Owari demanded, earning a high-pitched, half-choked giggle from the Luckster.

“Look at him,” Komaeda purred. “She’s left her mark all over him. It’s our duty to preserve that, isn’t it? It’s unfortunate for the rest of you that his talent turned out the way it did . . . but isn’t this outcome the most despair-inducing? To think her final creation opposes everything she stood for . . . she must have done it on purpose.”

 Komaeda lifted Naegi’s chin. For the first time, their eyes met. Komaeda’s overflowed with fondness, but something about them was wrong. There was a hardness there, a blankness that Naegi associated with one holding back their true emotions. In his peripheral vision, Naegi could see the other members of Despair staring at them.

“Her final creation,” Owari repeated uncertainly.

“Of course! Think about it. If Enoshima-san personally created him, then . . .  well, doesn’t that mean he’s the closest possible thing to _her child_?”

There was weight to those words, one that made it obvious they were aimed at someone in particular. Perhaps that was why Tsumiki’s stare suddenly doubled in intensity.

“Her child . . .” Tsumiki repeated.

“Don’t tell me you’re seriously listening to him!” Kuzuryu shouted. Pekoyama had been protectively in front of him, but Kuzuryu shoved her aside to face Komaeda directly. “He’s crazy! Why would you ever listen to a guy like him?”

“A broken clock is right twice a day,” Komaeda murmured, never taking his eyes off Naegi.

“Her child . . .” Tsumiki whispered.

“Fuck you! You don’t get to boss me around!”

Kuzuryu started forward, but Tsumiki grabbed his arm, causing Pekoyama to raise her sword in response. Kuzuryu yanked his arm free.

“Her child!” Tsumiki hissed at him.

“I-idiot! Komaeda’s just speaking nonsense.” Kuzuryu fixed his fedora. Then, he lifted one arm, pointed straight at Naegi, and snapped. “Peko -”

“ . . . Still arguing? How tiresome. There’s a very easy way to settle this.”

Naegi couldn’t explain what changed, but the room suddenly felt much smaller than it was. Kamukura watched them all from the doorway, his long hair projecting a hood-like shadow. The entire room of people shrank back from him. Even Komaeda stiffened a little.

Kamukura said, “Ask Junko what she thinks. There’s a digital partial copy of her in Towa City we can contact.”

A digital copy . . .? Like Alter Ego?

“I’ll set up the communications.” Kamukura left as suddenly as he had appeared.

Ultimate Despair lingered for a while, silent and confused. Kamukura’s proposal had sapped them of all their deadly energy, erasing their enthusiasm like a pin popping a balloon. Naegi buried his face in Komaeda’s side again. He was shaking so hard, he doubted he would have been able to keep himself upright without the Luckster’s support.

Nidai said, “Uh, so I guess we should meet Kamukura-kun up there?”

“Bring the kid,” Kuzuryu barked at Komaeda. “We’ll hunt you down and feed you to Tanaka’s pets if you don’t.”

Komaeda hummed softly, dipping his head in acknowledgement. He watched the others with friendly, yet guarded eyes as they walked past.

Then, they were alone.

Komaeda immediately put his hand to Naegi’s temple; it came away red. “You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

Was he? He hadn’t noticed.

“Here.” Komaeda gently peeled Naegi off him, and then took off his shirt. “Press it to your temple. Don’t worry about getting it dirty. There’s blood all over it now, anyways.”

Naegi obeyed numbly. He stared blankly ahead as Komaeda zipped up his hoodie.

“Kamukura-kun’s idea is either a stroke of good luck, or bad luck. I wish I knew.” Komaeda looked wistfully at the door. “We’ll have to go up there soon, but I think I need a few seconds. I’m not certain about what he’s planning.”

Naegi said nothing. Weary, he leaned against Komaeda again. Komaeda’s arm went around his shoulder, and the older boy gave him what appeared to be a worried look.

“I should be used to almost dying,” Naegi muttered. He wanted to go back to his room.

“Don’t worry about that, Naegi-kun. Ignore what I said before. We’re both lucky. It’ll work out, I know it!”

Naegi wished he could be that confident.

“I probably shouldn’t carry you this time. It would make the others angry. Naegi-kun, can you walk?”

He nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

* * *

The TV screen took up most of the wall. When Naegi and Komaeda entered, the other members of Despair (save for Kamukura) were on their knees at the bottom of the screen. More than one had pressed a hand against the glass. Kamukura stood near the back of the room, observing.

The TV screen showed a plain background with a single throne-like chair, but it was what sat _on_ the chair that was worth paying attention to. Monokuma. Or, at least . . . at least Naegi thought it was. It was a bear – no doubt about that – and not a natural bear. The only reason Naegi hesitated to call it Monokuma was the bear on the screen lacked a black half. There was a seam going down the robot’s center where the division between white and black should have been, but both sides of this bear were white. Additionally, there were bandages wrapped around the bear’s right limbs, and over the head where the red eye should have been.

And lastly, the bear was waving. And _smiling_.

“This . . . this is real, right?” he whispered. Komaeda made a noise of agreement.

“Naegi-kun!” The bear clapped its paws together. “You are here! Izuru’s already explained the situation.”

This was so, so wrong. Naegi backed straight into Komaeda, until his head was up against the other boy’s chest.  “This isn’t Enoshima-san.”

“Am I scaring him? But I’m a nice bear, Naegi-kun.” The bear’s ears turned downward, reflecting its disappointment. “Oh, I’ve tried so hard not to look scary anymore.”

The bear sounded friendly. The bear was acting friendly. Its smile was warm and safe. The black button eye, possessing two small lashes, begged him to trust it. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t trust this robot that was Monokuma’s kin, and bore Enoshima’s name and voice.

It was something that didn’t go unnoticed. Kuzuryu sneered. “So, the kid’s terrified of his ‘ _mother_ ’, huh?”

Naegi cringed, but he couldn’t refute that. Thankfully, Komaeda was opening his mouth –

“No, he’s probably just embarrassed because he wet himself.”

. . . Naegi didn’t even care anymore.

The bear put a paw over its mouth. “I wouldn’t make fun of him for that. But Naegi-kun, you think of me as a mother?”

“You created him,” Komaeda said. He had his chin atop Naegi’s head, and held the younger boy by the shoulders. “If you think about it, the real you died in childbirth.”

Soda said to Komaeda, “. . . You are really messed up in the head, you know.”

“You shouldn’t pick on him. I hate it when people fight!” the bear said. (Soda threw himself on the ground and blubbered apologies). “And I’m male, anyways. All Monokuma units are . . .”

The bear froze. Naegi blinked. For a few seconds, he thought the video had frozen.

Then, the shoulders bobbed up and down.

“Upupupupupu. . .” Naegi’s ears rang with trepidation –

“I forgot who I was talking to!” The bear declared that loudly, jumping from a sitting position into a standing one. “Never mind! One hundred percent female! Ignore all that dumb stuff I said earlier.”

The bear sat back down. Her stubby legs crossed one over the other as her paws rested on the top knee.

“So, you disgusting piece of garbage, what are you up to?”

“Just doing my part to raise the next generation,” Komaeda said. “It would be such a waste if he died without leaving an impact.”

“Naegi-kun’s already made a big impact! Gah, the despair the real me must have felt, I can only fantasize . . .” The bear panted heavily, the sounds almost sexual in nature. Then, she paused before asking, “What about the rest of you? Are you helping him out or just standing there like idiots?”

A loud chorus of umms and confusion went around. Nidai spoke first, saying, “Uh, do you want us to help?”

Shivering, holding herself tightly, Tsumiki began, “If he really is your child . . .”

Her arms suddenly seemed to wrap around her like snakes. Her head tilted back and sideways at an impossible angle, and a sickly sweet smile grew upon her face.

“ . . . Then I will give him everything.”

The bear’s smile faded. She spoke in a monotone. “. . . You realize this is the same classmate I trapped in the Killing Game and personally tried to murder, right? You’re naming the Ultimate Hope as the child of the Ultimate Despair. And . . . and you want to adopt him. My loyal subordinates are going to foster the person who murdered me and ruined all of my hard work.”

The silence was its own sound. He could feel Komaeda’s breath hitch. Naegi might have panicked then, but he felt Komaeda turn towards Kamukura, and decided to look himself. The former Ultimate Hope stared at them meaningfully, a clear message in the lines of his face.

“That’s . . . that’s . . .”

And below the bandages, the red eye gleamed so brightly that it showed through the white –

“ _That’s so incredibly despairful!_ ” The bear shrieked like a kid receiving a present. She fanned herself with a paw. “I’ll have to think about you all fawning and fussing over my murderer every day while I rot among these stupid, smelly, ugly adults! Naegi-kun, you really know how to reach a girl’s heart. ”

It . . . she was okay with this? That was it? That’s all it took to convince her? Naegi had been expecting something more like the final trial.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” the bear said, as its body attempted to imitate Enoshima’s ‘cutesy’ personality. “I’m not that kind of girl who’s all take and no give. You benefit from this too, Naegi-kun. Now, you get to be part of all our wonderful despair!”

What . . . _what did that mean?_

“You hear me, everyone? Make sure you raise him with _all my love_.”

Laughing again, the bear reached forward for something off-screen, and the TV went dark. Though the bear was gone, her last three words echoed throughout the room.

Kuzuryu’s next words summed up everyone’s thoughts quite nicely.

“Well, shit.”


	12. The Nurse

For a room full of people who had banded together and plunged the world into anarchy, it was remarkably tense. Kuzuryu seemed to be taking the turn of events personally and was off sulking in a corner, Pekoyama hovering uncertainly at his shoulder. Tsumiki had her cheek against the screen where the bear had reached off-screen, but she was glaring at Komaeda over Naegi’s head. The two seemed to be having some kind of standoff, and he didn’t know why. Kamukura was in the back of the room, looking at nothing. The other members of Despair stood around awkwardly, acting like they wanted to say something.

The Coach finally made a move. Rubbing the back of his neck, he wore what was a clearly forced smile, and said, “Well, we were upset about being down a member before. Guess there’s no more need to despair over that.”

“Urk. Such a nice source of despair gone like that.” For a moment, Soda looked like he was tearing up. “But hey, I guess that in itself is despair, too!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. We still got to decide how we’re going to handle Junior over there!” Owari pointed dramatically at Naegi –

And Tsumiki gasped and knocked her arm away. “His name isn’t Junior! Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

. . . Did she just . . . did she really . . . why was she looking at him like that?

“His name is Naegi Makoto,” Komaeda said proudly, puffing up like a father watching his child on stage. “Our own little beacon of hope.”

Several members of Despair made disgusted faces.

“That,” Hanamura declared, “will have to be the first thing to go. We can’t let a revolting ingredient like that interfere with such a delectable dish. Might I recommend we start with the opening course she gave to the Reserve students?”

Owari protested, “Hey, we don’t want him to end up like them!”

From his corner, Kuzuryu piped up. “We’re not stupid. We’ll be careful –”

Komaeda sighed. _Loudly_. So loudly, that it was nothing more than a means to grab attention, and it worked. Both Kuzuryu and Tsumiki were united in how intensely they glared at the Luckster. Trapped in place by Komaeda’s body, Naegi found himself in the middle of the feuding sides, even if neither were glaring directly at him.

“Do I really need to step up again?” Komaeda said. “It’s drilled into trash like me that I need to listen closely to my betters, but you guys tried to listen too, didn’t you? Enoshima-san asked us to raise him with her love.”

“Duh. That’s why we need him to take over Despair,” Owari said, cracking her knuckles. “We gotta show him the beauty of her work.”

Taking . . . over? That’s what they were talking about?! They couldn’t . . . they couldn’t possibly believe he could ever be like Enoshima, could they? He. . . he couldn’t! It was _wrong_. He would never be like her! Even thinking about it made him dizzy.

And Komaeda thought so, too. He shook his head. He smirked at the other Ultimates; Naegi would have never imagined Komaeda giving such an expression to his beloved classmates.

“If it was anyone else, I would agree completely,” Komaeda said. “But, Owari-san, can I ask you something. How did _your_ mother raise you?”

“My . . . mother?” Owari appeared gobsmacked, as did most of the other Ultimates. Naegi wasn’t sure why.

And it wasn’t her that answered.

“Mama was a very kind woman,” Hanamura murmured. He rocked back and forth on his heels. “But she was so sick towards the end . . . always tried to pretend she wasn’t. I didn’t want to leave her, but she insisted. She was so happy. I told her when I came back, she wouldn’t have to work anymore. And I was right. I came back . . .”

The knife slipped from his hand. Was that laughter Naegi heard? Or something much more sinister.

“The look on her face when I . . . the _despair_ . . . it was beautiful. So beautiful.”

“She taught you how to cook,” Komaeda said. His hands ran up and down Naegi’s arms. Naegi, stricken with a sudden nervousness, looked up at the older boy. That gleam in Komaeda’s eyes, it was almost predatory.

“Mama taught me everything,” Hanamura said.

“So, she developed your talent, right?”

Everyone stared.

“What are you getting at?” Soda asked.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

For the first time since they’d entered the room, Komaeda left Naegi’s side. Naegi curled up a little, disliking how the cool air brushed his now-vulnerable back. Komaeda stepped toward the other Ultimates spreading his arms wide, as if to show he meant no harm.

“There’s no doubt you guys were born different than the regular, untalented crowd,” Komaeda said, “but I don’t think any of you came out the womb knowing enough about your talent to be an Ultimate. You had to be nurtured into it, didn’t you? And I’m willing to bet your parents were the ones who took responsibility.”

Pekoyama’s eyes widened. “Then you are saying . . .”

“If we’re going to really raise Naegi-kun with a mother’s love, then we’re obliged to cultivate _his_ talent, not hers.”

A long silence followed as the room absorbed Komaeda’s logic. Could this work? Naegi, still hunched over a little, shuffled toward Komaeda. Komaeda stretched his arm out toward him, and tucked him against his side protectively.

“That can’t be right,” Soda said. Owari and Nidai nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, I’m not buying it,” Kuzuryu said. “We –”

“Komaeda is right.”

Those three words from Kamukura was all it took to silence the gangster. To silence everyone, even though he was lying. Naegi knew Kamukura wasn’t telling the whole truth, yet nobody seemed able to refute the former Ultimate Hope’s words, or look him in the eye for that matter. It occurred to Naegi then that the casual, semi-friendly interactions between Kamukura and Komaeda were not the norm. Instead, the default seemed to be yielding before Kamukura like a pack of dogs before their master.

“We got to bend to his _hope_.” Hanamura’s eyes went wide.

“It’s terrible, I know.” Komaeda’s body shook with the beginning of laughter, but it wasn’t long before he flinched in pain and forced himself to stop. “Ultimate Despair is forbidden from harming the brightest light of them all. Instead, we’re forced to coexist alongside him while he feeds off us like a parasite. It’s like constantly being followed by a mosquito you can’t swat. How despairing is that? Besides, wouldn’t Enoshima-san find it the most despairful if we raised him to be the brightest hope there could ever be?”

That last line seemed to smooth over some of Despair’s ruffled feathers. Owari, Nidai and Soda relaxed and nodded to themselves. Hanamura had recovered, and was busy picking up the knife he had dropped. Kuzuryu mumbled something to Pekoyama; the swordswoman herself had no reaction.

“I’ll take full responsibility for him,” Komaeda said. “Hope is my area of expertise, after all.”

Tsumiki was creeping closer, no longer staring at her classmate, but at Naegi himself.

“He’s injured,” she said. “I should look at him.”

It was the logical answer, wasn’t it? For the Ultimate Nurse to examine him. That’s why Naegi was surprised when Komaeda placed himself between them. The Luckster’s smile tapered off into a hard line.

“It’s nothing serious,” Komaeda said. “I can handle it.”

But the Nurse didn’t budge. “He could easily have a concussion. That wound needs to be cleaned too, or it could become infected!”

Komaeda exhaled heavily, recognizing a losing battle. “. . . You’re right, you’re right. It was foolish of me to believe my mediocre skills fell in the same ballpark as yours.”

“I’ll get the medical center ready.” Tsumiki smiled and it was almost a kind, normal smile, if it weren’t for her reaching forward and pinching Naegi’s cheek. “We’ll see each other again soon!”

Once she was out of sight, Naegi touched the place she had touched. It felt dirty, somehow. He wanted to take a handful of soap and wipe it clean.

“So, we’re all on the same page, right?” When no one said otherwise, Komaeda clearly interpreted that as a yes. “Me and Naegi-kun will be going then.”

They moved slowly, like they were sneaking past a sleeping bear. Komaeda guided him firmly out of the room, hand on his back. Naegi was only too eager to follow, to get away from the students who had almost been his executioners. The dark shadows of the hall outside the TV room were calming, like they existed for the sole purpose of hiding him.

“You don’t need to be scared, Naegi-kun,” Komaeda said. “I don’t think Tsumiki-san is going to hurt you. I’ll be there anyways. I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything weird.”

Naegi didn’t say much. He didn’t want to have this conversation right now, or any at all. Just being next to, touching someone he knew was safe was all he could handle.

Their steps echoed in the hall. Only . . . it wasn’t just them. He and Komaeda were walking in sync, but he could hear footsteps that did not match theirs. Komaeda noticed too, and glanced over his shoulder, but whomever he saw, it didn’t bother him.

Naegi jumped when Kamukura spoke. “Your manipulations are usually less targeted.”

“I was motivated,” Komaeda said softly. “I figured getting at least one of them on my side was our best option.”

Naegi had a sudden urge to pull his hood over his head. He still didn’t want to talk, but there was one thing that bothered him, one thing that he needed to know . . .

“Kamukura-kun, why did you lie for me?”

Komaeda chuckled nervously. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? That’s all in the past.”

But Naegi wasn’t going to be dissuaded so easily, and he looked backwards straight into Kamukura’s red eyes. “Kamukura-kun?”

The former Ultimate Hope appraised him.

“. . . This way is more interesting,” Kamukura said. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and walked away into the darkness.

A beat followed.

“ . . . Did you hear that, Naegi-kun? I think he might like you!”

Naegi sighed, figuring it was easier not to argue.

The medical center had a sharp, chemical-like smell that made his nose hairs bristle. When he first ran into that miasma, it was almost like inhaling a cloud of weak acid; his eyes watered, his lungs rejected the air. Tsumiki, waiting just as she had promised, took the coughing as a sign of poor health and rushed right over.

“Shh . . . shh . . . It’s okay. Auntie Mikan’s here to make it better!”

Mikan? Was. . . was that permission to use her first name? Honestly, Naegi wasn’t sure he wanted to – _he_ certainly didn’t think they were close enough for that – but he was afraid of her reaction if he refused. So, to compromise, he kept his mouth shut and nodded. Tsumiki giggled. She grabbed his hand, tearing him away from Komaeda, and he stumbled after her as she led him into the room. There was an examination table tucked against the far wall, much like the table in the desolate room Ultimate Despair had thrown him into not long ago. In fact, this table had even more restraints. Beds stuck out from the two adjacent walls, thankfully empty. Although that one over there had a blanket pulled over it, and was that . . . was that a hand sticking out?

In the corner by the medical table, there was a clump of medical stands, IVs, and catheters, some of which were filled with oddly coloured liquids that looked dangerous. Against the wall on the other side of the table were shelves and cabinets filled with medical supplies. He hardly got to look at it before Tsumiki was pushing him into the table. He sat on the edge, acting as though this was a regular check-up.

She checked for a concussion first. He followed her instructions dutifully, keeping his eyes on her so that he didn’t have to look at the rest of the room and especially that one bed that may have been occupied. Once she was satisfied, she pushed him onto the table until he was lying down. It gave him an unfortunately good view of a particular leather strap that must have been intended for a neck; if Komaeda hadn’t sensed his distress and grabbed his hand, his nervousness would have exploded into a full-out panic attack. But he did, and he was there and no matter what warnings Kamukura gave him, he knew Komaeda wouldn’t let her hurt him. He squeezed the hand, and waited for the comfort of a reciprocating gesture.

Tsumiki cleaned and stitched his temple. Afterwards, she insisted on a full check-up. Her subtle glares and tone of voice made it obvious that she didn’t trust that Komaeda had taken good care of him . . . and at the same time, Komaeda didn’t seem to entirely trust her either. He kept asking questions, questions that one shouldn’t need to ask the Ultimate Nurse – especially questions about her intentions. Tsumiki’s sharp responses made it clear that she knew that, too.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Tsumiki declared him to be in good health. Good. He wanted to get out of here. Komaeda may have been crazy, but it was a crazy Naegi understood and could adapt to. Tsumiki was a different kind of crazy; a kind that made his insides shrivel and coated the back of his mouth with stress. She kept _touching._ Yes, yes, she was a nurse given him a check-up, but she hadn’t needed to be that intimate about it. And yes, Komaeda liked to touch too, but he tended to use big, obvious gestures like hugs. Tsumiki’s touches were caresses and swipes against skin; things Naegi couldn’t see coming.

And right now, her thumb was tracing a circle on his cheek while her other hand lay on his neck’s pulse point. She murmured, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to spend time with me in here yet.”

Naegi shifted his eyes, trying to look at Komaeda without turning his head.

“I usually give my patients a lollypop now. . .” She giggled, and leaned in until their foreheads touched. “ _But they’re all poisoned._ ”

Komaeda ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, Tsumiki-san, I hate to bother you with my incessant questions, but shouldn’t Naegi-kun and I get going? You said yourself that he needs rest.”

She gave Komaeda a look of annoyance, and then sighed. “I’m sorry, Naegi-kun. You sh-should get some rest.”

For one shining moment, he thought he was free. Then it became obvious that Tsumiki intended to hold his hand and walk him to the door.

Whatever. At least he was achieving his goal of getting out of here.

Komaeda walked behind the pair, hands in his pocket. Tsumiki led the way, happier than she ought to be. About halfway to the door, she started to talk.

“I always dreamed about it: having children with my _beloved_. It didn’t matter that we were both girls. . . But now she’s g-gone. But you’re here. My beloved had a baby boy in the end. Can I call you Makoto?”

This time, he would be required to answer. He swallowed, licked his dry lips, and mumbled, “S-sure.”

“Thank you, Makoto.” Tsumiki bent over suddenly, so that they were at eyelevel. “Now, Makoto . . . can you call me _Mommy_?”

No. No, no, no. No no no no no no no no no no –

“Think about it. For me, okay?” Tsumiki pressed her lips to his forehead, and then backed off. “Mommy needs to go back to work now!”

That was Komaeda’s signal. He swept in quickly, ushering Naegi out the door while keeping up an impressive string of gratitude and compliments. When the medical center’s door shut behind them, he stared at it for a good few seconds.

“I didn’t expect her to take to that idea that much,” he said. “Guess I overdid it. Come on, let’s get back to your room.”

Naegi didn’t move, even when Komaeda tugged at his arm.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Komaeda asked.

Naegi shook his head.

“Komaeda-kun, after everything that’s happened today . . . do you really think I’m safe here?”

The emotion he saw on Komaeda’s face wasn’t the one he was hoping to get. “I know that was some rather bad luck, but it was all good in the end. We don’t need to hide anymore; we have the approval of our goddess herself! It’s all uphill from here.”

Yeah. Now instead of dealing with one crazy person and his apathetic companion, he was dealing with a group of them. It said a lot that he viewed the manipulative, insane kidnapper as the most trustworthy of the bunch. And that the person that seemed to help him the most was the unfeeling, dead-eyed science experiment.

What had he gotten himself into?

(How was he going to get himself out of it?)


	13. The Newest Addition

Naegi dried his hair one last time. It wouldn’t do much to save the soaked shoulders of his pyjamas, but it might keep the rest of his clothes dry. He placed the towel on the rack, moved Kamukura’s shoes to the edge of the tub where it was least wet, and then grabbed his soiled clothing. With everything that had happened, he’d forgotten about his loss of control. But Komaeda had been there to remind him, and gently suggest he get cleaned up.

He dumped his old clothes in the hamper as quickly as possible. For that reason, he didn’t notice until afterwards that it wasn’t just Komaeda in the room. Next to the seated Luckster was the Ultimate Swordswoman, Pekoyama. It was the first look he got at her in proper light – and also when he wasn’t in grave danger. She looked pretty much the same as she had in the photo album. However, the aura of confidence she had exhibited back there wasn’t the same. It was quieter, less sure, like someone had put a film over it to reduce its brightness. But her back was still ramrod straight like a soldier – a soldier that happened to be holding an armful of clothes instead of a weapon.

“These are for you,” Pekoyama said. “My Master has no need of them.”

“Let me guess,” Komaeda said. “Peer pressure got to him.”

“. . . My Master is beholden to no one,” Pekoyama said coldly. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Naegi. “Especially not the whelp of Enoshima Junko.”

Huh? That seemed to come out of nowhere, particularly given how the other members of Despair behaved around their leader. It was so shocking in fact, that Naegi had no time to feel insulted before the swordswoman stomped out of the room.

For this part, Komaeda merely furrowed his brow a little. “To think she has the nerve to speak like that to you . . . I know I’m too pathetic to be your vengeance, but if I talk to Kuzuryu-kun, he can act in my place. He’s always looking for reasons to come down on her.”

“Wh-what? No, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

Komaeda scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked very much like Kamukura in that instant. “Anyone who disrespects you is a big deal.”

“Komaeda-kun, don’t,” he croaked, stopping the other boy in the middle of standing. “I . . . I can’t deal with this. I just want to lie down for a while.”

“Ah, I forgot!” Komaeda jumped off the bed, and attempted to smooth the comforter down. “Take all the time you need.”

Naegi didn’t respond. He peeled back the covers and slid into bed. Drowsiness tugged at his mind, making the skin around his eyes feel loose and wrinkled. Yet he didn’t seem able to keep them closed. The bedroom door remained at the center of his vision.

“She just walked in here,” he mumbled. “Did she even knock?”

“She did. You must have not heard it because you were in the shower. I imagine most of them will start checking up on you. They all want a piece of you now.” That last part dripped with jealousy, maybe even possessiveness.

“There’s no lock on this side. They can just walk in whenever they feel like it.”

“I can ask them to leave you alone, but they’d never listen to an inferior person like me.” Komaeda sighed, and slumped against a wall. “Maybe a sign on your door will work better.”

But Naegi was no longer listening. “They’re all crazy. They’re all _Despair_.”

Someone was screaming at him, low and heavy, threats and slurs echoing within the small room. He couldn’t understand them but he _knew_ . . . he knew what they wanted to say, and his heartbeat sped up in response. Nidai’s huge hands were on him again; grabbing, squeezing, moving steadily upwards toward his neck –

A ring of pain erupted around his throat, crushing it. The angry voices drowned out all thought. They were yelling at him, shaking him, _touching_ him –

The phantom hands on his shoulder became real. He screamed. He clawed at the hands; his fingers shook too much to pull. Hot, musty air filled his mouth, suffocating him.

“Shh . . .”

The skin against his was blazing hot. It threatened to bake him alive. But the outside air was cooler now, and he consumed it greedily. A large pressure pushed down on his torso, but it didn’t matter; an impossibly heavy weight had already seized his limbs.

“It’s alright. You’re okay.”

That voice was like a ward. The louder it became, the more the screaming chorus dimmed. Something slithered into his hand; he gripped it tight enough to leave bruises. His own nails dug into his palm. He didn’t mind the pain.

“They’re not going to hurt you, Naegi-kun. I’ll stop them.”

Colours and shapes began to make sense again. Something roared, but he recognized it as his own, frenzied heartbeat. His hand started to throb from how tight it was squeezing.

“K-ko . . .”

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

That was the only part of the word that would come. Perhaps for the best. For if Komaeda had watched Naegi’s mouth form its next silent syllable, he would have realized Naegi hadn’t been asking for him.

Komaeda shifted his weight back. The older boy was straddling him.  One hand pressed down on Naegi’s chest, holding him down. The other was entangled with Naegi’s right hand.

Naegi closed his eyes. “Komaeda-kun, please . . . I can’t stay here. . .”

“I can’t do that, Naegi-kun.”

Yes, he knew. He knew Komaeda was set in his resolve. Even after all this, he wouldn’t let him go . . .

It was only natural to cry.

Komaeda backed off, looking stunned. Naegi rolled away from the Luckster, bringing his knees to his chest until he looked half his size. The tears came freely; he was too tired, too demoralized to be embarrassed. He hurt all over, and couldn’t tell if it was physical pain he felt, or mental.

“Naegi-kun? What are you . . .?” Komaeda reached over, and wiped a finger under Naegi’s eye. “Why . . .? Ah, I see. These tears, they must be your despair. This is how you purge yourself of it.”

 _‘Naegi-kun, stop._ ’ That was Kirigiri’s ghost by the door. Arms crossed, expression tight, she told him through stare alone that it was dangerous to let Komaeda see him like this. With the last of his strength, Naegi sucked his tears back.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” he lied. He was so ready to close his eyes and stop thinking –

Komaeda shifted.

Naegi’s hand snapped over the other’s wrist. He pulled it closer to himself, until it nearly touched his chest.

“Don’t leave me alone here. P-please.”

“If that’s what you want.” Even as he said that, Komaeda was wearing that stunned, confused face. Like what he was seeing was so unnatural he couldn’t comprehend it.

Despite the fear gnawing at his belly, his eyelids drifted shut. At least there was one guardian standing between him and Despair.

* * *

Komaeda wasn’t there.

That was his first thought when he woke up. Save for himself, the bed was empty, and so was the chair. Panicked eyes skimmed the room and honestly, it didn’t bring him that much relief when Komaeda turned out to be at the door. The Luckster had it open a crack, peeking through as –

Someone was on the other side.

What should he do? Hide? Say something? Pretend he was sleeping? Nobody had told him how to handle these newly motivated Despairs. An iron band fastened around his head, making it painful even to think . . .

The bedroom door shut again.

Just like that, the band constricting his thoughts loosened, leaving behind a pulsing ache. Oh. That had been easy. Nothing bad had happened. He looked up at Komaeda, who was balancing a tray in each hand.

“What was that?” he asked the Luckster.

“Hanamura-kun wanted to know why neither of us had come by for breakfast,” Komaeda answered. He put one tray on the desk, and offered the other to Naegi. “I told him you were still recovering from yesterday.”

“Oh.” He took the tray, and placed it on his lap. A ‘thank you’ was on the tip on his tongue, but he was reluctant to say it. “Does that mean he’ll leave me alone?”

“Probably,” Komaeda said, “but Tsumiki-san will definitely visit now. Not that she would have stayed away in the first place.”

Oh.

Breakfast tasted stale. That was impossible because the Ultimate Chef had prepared it, but it still did. He couldn’t finish it. He shoved the leftovers aside and put his head down, half-wishing he could fall asleep again.

“When will she be coming?” he asked.

“Probably within the hour.”

He was right. Komaeda had just finished eating and starting trying to convince Naegi to finish his meal when Tsumiki peeped in the room. She and Komaeda had a round of mutual glaring before she fully stepped inside. Naegi did his best not to look at either of them.

“Good morning, Makoto!”

He’d forgotten that he’d (foolishly) given her permission to use his first name. He looked automatically. She actually looked rather normal today, like a warm, caring nurse. Still, he and Komaeda both kept a wary eye on her as she approached the bed.

“Hanamura-kun says you’re feeling ill today,” she said.

“It’s just stress,” he said. You couldn’t treat stress with pills, right? Maybe she’d go ahead and leave.

Of course, it couldn’t be that simple. He still had to subject himself to a physical check-up. If he blurred his vision and didn’t focus on her face, he could almost pretend this was elsewhere. Although every time she touched him, it was like being poked with a cattle prod.

“I don’t blame you for being stressed,” she said offhandedly. “They were so mean to you. A-and you’ve been spending a lot of time with a . . . stressful person. Maybe if you changed –”

“No,” he said quickly. “I like it here.”

The truth was he didn’t want to be somewhere that gave Despair easy access to him. Being under Komaeda’s watch was the closest he would get to a guarded jail cell.

“Ah, okay. Makoto, can you forgive me for what we did to you yesterday?”

He knew he barely had a choice in the matter. “Sure.”

A few more minutes passed, and Tsumiki announced that it probably was just stress. She was still worried, however, by the sight of Naegi’s breakfast leftovers. When Komaeda confessed that wasn’t the first time Naegi had failed to finish a meal, both of them shared a united moment of concern.

“M-maybe Hanamura-kun should cut down on his portion sizes. He is rather small . . . overeating is unhealthy, too!”

Tsumiki left quickly after that, but she returned. This time, with a scale in hand. There wasn’t much choice but to force himself out of bed and let her measure his weight. She declared him ‘Light but within the proper range’, and ordered Komaeda to start tracking his weight.

Fine. It wasn’t like he planned to starve himself.

Then, he was alone. Oh, and Komaeda was here, too. The visits from Hanamura and Tsumiki had left him too rattled to consider sleep. He stood sluggishly, and made his way to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

Upon seeing himself in the mirror, he was surprised that Tsumiki had been appeased as easily as she had been. In a word, he looked terrible. The stitches on his temple were barely visible among the dark bruising radiating out from the closed wound. There was further bruising on his arms, fingermarks on his neck . . . he shoved that thought away with a grimace. Dark shadows lay under his eyes; the slump to his posture made him look like a wilted plant. His hair was in disarray, too – although he wouldn’t exactly describe it as neat even at the best of times. He’d never come out of something so badly, even on his worst-luck days.

 _I wonder how Komaeda’s healing is going_. The white-haired boy had held himself just fine yesterday, but Naegi had spotted him wincing when he had jumped off the bed.

Kamukura had left his deck of cards behind, so Naegi killed some time playing with an eager Komaeda.  The scale had been shoved under the bed, where Naegi could ignore it and any memories of Tsumiki’s visit. It wasn’t long enough though, before the bedroom door opened again (and without anyone knocking!) A pink-haired head topped poked in.

“Uh, this is where the Naegi guy is, right?” Soda asked.

Naegi stared at him. Soda was the one who had hit him with the wrench. That he knew to be true, but he had little memory of it. He couldn’t remember the impact, or the sight of it coming towards him. Even trying to think about the immediate aftermath was a bit of a blur, although it made his head hurt. Other than that though, Soda had been pretty quiet throughout his ordeal yesterday.

“So, this is where you’ve been staying.” Soda stepped inside without waiting for permission. He scanned  the room, and frowned. “It seems pretty dull in here. What do you do all day?”

Naegi shrugged.

Soda didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he asked another question. “Why do you want to stay with a crazy guy like Komaeda anyways?”

“I . . .” What should he do? He didn’t know enough to judge whether stating the truth might set Soda off.

In the end, he went with a half-truth.

“. . . Because Komaeda is my friend.”

. . . Did Komaeda just stop breathing?

“You might end up regretting that,” Soda said. “Anyways, me and Owari-san were talking, and we thought maybe I could build you a TV or something so you’re not bored.”

“A TV?” Naegi blinked. That sounded fantastic, actually. Maybe it was time for the good luck Komaeda kept promising. He’d had enough of being ignorant of the outside world from the Killing Game. “That. . . that would be great!”

To Naegi’s surprise, Soda was not happy about his reaction. “. . . Can you be less happy about it? It reminds me of . . . _before_. At least try to act scared so I can pretend I’m making something to kill you with.”

“Uh, sorry?”

Soda deflated. “Man, this is what I got to put up with . . . Eh. At least this way you might get to learn about the others before they get here.”

“The others?” Naegi repeated. For his part, Komaeda crossed his arms and pouted like an upset child.

“Tsumiki-san sent out the word yesterday. Everybody wants to come by and meet you. Even the _princess_ is on her way.” Soda said that last noun with a growl. Whoever this princess was, he didn’t seem to like her very much.

“The princess . . . that’s Nevermind, right?”

“Wait, you do know about her? How the hell . . .?” Soda glanced at Komaeda then, and the pieces came together. “Oh. What’d he say about me?”

Naegi swallowed. “You’re the Ultimate Mechanic, right? Komaeda-kun told me you created M-Monokuma.”

“Yep! That’s my baby.” Soda stood in a photo-worthy pose; grinning widely while giving him a thumbs-up. “Say, you should check out my workshop. I’m planning on getting started on that TV in an hour or so. You could hand me the tools or something.”

The tools? Naegi looked past Soda to the door between him and freedom. Maybe that’s what he needed to bypass that barrier. But at the same time, did he really want to spend time with Soda? He thought about it. Soda had hit him with that wrench, but Naegi couldn’t remember it. Soda hadn’t touched him. He hadn’t yelled much. He definitely hadn’t choked him.

Yes. . . he could do this.

“I’ll think about it,” he said neutrally.

Soda left him shortly after. At the same time the lock clicked shut, Komaeda slowly turned to face Naegi. The white-haired boy’s face was frozen in some parody of a horror-movie style grin.

“ _Friends_?”

Yeah, he should have seen this coming. He exhaled deeply, and said, “Yes. Friends.”

. . . Either Komaeda was shrieking in joy, or someone had left a kettle on the stove.

* * *

_Can I really do this?_

Naegi stood outside the door to Soda’s alleged workshop. Komaeda lingered at the mouth of the hall. For whatever reason, the older student had decided not to accompany Naegi inside, though he still waited nearby in case Naegi changed his mind. The Luckster’s decision was both a comfort and frightening. A comfort because it must have meant Komaeda didn’t classify Soda as a threat; frightening because Naegi had never had a friendly interaction with a Remnant (except Kamukura) without Komaeda. These were new grounds he was treading, grounds that would be hostile, if not outright deadly, to a regular person.

‘ _It’ll have to happen eventually_.’ That’s what Komaeda had told him when Naegi had first protested his decision. From Komaeda’s offhand comments and the snippets he heard from the others, it was obvious that Komaeda wasn’t particularly well liked by the Remnants. It made sense. Komaeda _was_ unhealthily focused on hope, although he seemed to tone it down when he wanted something from his classmates. That made it even more bizarre that Komaeda had sided with them in the first place. But the point was that the others disliked Komaeda and as the white-haired boy had explained, that meant it was only a matter of time before they started trying to hang out with Naegi without Komaeda present.

Naegi looked back. Komaeda gave him a smile and a little wave. He had a childish desire to pull his hood up, as if it could block out all the bad things in the world.

 _Alright, I can do this._ He took a deep breath and set his shoulders. _I mean, it’s a workshop, not a torture chamber._

 _How bad can it be_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today, but next chapter will finally have Naegi interacting with someone who isn't Komaeda or Kamukura.


	14. The Mechanic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler for DR3!
> 
> Just keep in mind this chapter was written (and most of the story was planned) before the brainwashing animation reveal in DR3. So, don't expect to see too much of that.

 Workshop was an understatement. Or maybe a flat-out lie. Workshops were small and smug, with tables, machines and projects scattered about. Workshops were not _this_ ; not this vast, sprawling complex in constant motion. Conveyor belts shuffled chunks of metal from one stop to the next. Pillar-like pistons pumped up and down in synchronized motion. Robotic arms fitted with screwdrivers wound nuts and screws into place while blowguns sprayed paint onto whatever came before them. At the beginning of the procession, near the entrance where he was, the manufacturing began with shapeless masses of metal. But the further they ventured into the factory, the closer they got to the opposite wall, the more horrible they became.

For at the end of the conveyors, there waited dozens upon dozens upon _dozens_ of Monokumas.

There was plenty of distance between them. If one decided to charge, he would easily have a full minute before he was in danger. Yet he was rooted to the spot as if a train were barrelling straight toward him. It wasn’t fear he felt. Maybe shock? Monokuma had copies, but he wasn’t supposed to have _this_ many copies. Naegi blinked several times, unable to comprehend the truth his eyes told him.

For their part, the Monokumas didn’t even have a fraction of the reaction he had to them. They were completely unbothered by the stranger in the room and continued doing whatever it was they were doing. Most were still, on standby, maybe. Some toddled back and forth like children learning to walk. A couple had claws out, but they didn’t seem to know what to do with them.

“Hey, you made it!” Soda waved to him from the other side of the room. The side where the Monokumas were. He wasn’t going over there. Nope. He refused to get within arm’s length of those claws.

Soda, however, appeared to be oblivious to silent cues.

“Uh, Naegi-kun, over here!”

As if he was going to walk over there. Soda would have to come and drag him–

Hey! He was _just_ _kidding_!

“It’s pretty neat, isn’t it? Must have shocked you senseless.” Soda’s sweaty grip was nevertheless very strong, and he barely seemed to notice Naegi trying to resist. “I never thought I’d get to run an awesome setup like this!”

They drew near the Monokumas. Naegi went stiff. The nearest bear had its claws out, and their sharp tips gleamed as it raised them –

The Monokuma walked into a puffing machine, and kept trying to move forward. Soda glanced at it and sighed.

“They don’t have their A.I. fully loaded yet,” he explained. “They’re real stupid. Watch this!”

Soda released Naegi’s hand and walked over to the struggling Monokuma. With one hand, he pushed its head, knocking it over. The Monokuma fell onto its side, arms and legs flailing. It was almost funny.

“So, they don’t know me?” Naegi asked. Specifically, they didn’t know how he had destroyed their creator.

Soda said, “I wouldn’t say that . . .”

His shark-toothed grin was actually quite intimidating in the right light.

Before Naegi felt anything but his own courage deserting him, Soda grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him forward.

“Hey, everyone!” The Mechanic hollered, hands cupped around his mouth. “It’s the Ultimate Hope, Naegi Makoto!”

“ _Naegi Makoto!_ ”

A hundred – nay, a thousand robotic chants rang out in unison. As one unit, the Monokumas spun towards them and saluted. Even the robot Soda knocked over had its legs locked together, and a paw raised to its forehead.

It was pretty freaking creepy.

“. . . You programmed them to do that for me,” Naegi asked, cringing inside.

“They do that for all of us.” To prove his point, Soda shouted his own name and title and the Monokumas obediently chanted his name. “It means they recognize you as one of us. I went ahead and gave you basic clearance, too.”

. . . So far, this was turning out to be a bad day. Soda hadn’t even done anything Despair-ish, and Naegi already wanted to go back to his room. He chose not to linger on the idea of being recognized as a member of Ultimate Despair (in fact, he decided to wipe it from his memory completely. He might go insane if he didn’t). But this clearance thing sounded important.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

Soda shrugged. “Means you can boss them around as long as it doesn’t go against what we’ve told them to do. Same goes for the soldiers. You should give it a try.”

Soda whistled, and a Monokuma scurried over, teetering to a stop in front of them. It . . . it didn’t look like the Monokuma from the Killing Game. It looked much less evil. It took him a bit to understand why, but eventually he realized it had regular teeth instead of the sharp, pointed teeth of the other Monokuma.

“Make it grab us a snack or something,” Soda said. “I’m starving.”

Naegi looked at Soda for a moment, checking if the Mechanic was serious. Apparently, he was. He turned to the robot. “Uh, could you get us something to eat, please?”

The Monokuma stared before waddling off. Meanwhile, Soda was laughing hysterically in the background.

“Y-you . . . you said _please_ . . . to a robot! Man, you’re a riot. Hey, Monokuma, make sure it isn’t poisoned!” He patted Naegi on the shoulder, giving him the kind of fond, but superior look one would give their younger brother. “You got to watch out for that. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff sitting around, and they ain’t smart enough to bring you the right kind unless you ask for it.”

“Fantastic.”

“TV’s over here.” Soda pointed at a workbench that was a comfortable distance away from the Monokumas. “It’s just a bunch of metal and stuff right now, but I got all the pieces together so we can get started. You ever worked with tools before?”

“N-no.” Naegi was almost walking backwards, keeping an eye on the indifferent robots.

“Huh. Well if you watch me, you’re sure to pick some things up!” Soda sat down at the workbench, and rubbed his gloves together. “Where is that dumb bear?”

A minute or so later, said bear returned. It . . . it had a chef’s hat on. And an apron. It did not look cute. But it also carried a tray above its head with some fancy dish Naegi didn’t have a name for. Soda reached over, grabbed a piece and wolfed it down.

“Want some?” he asked with a full mouth.

Naegi reluctantly took a piece for himself. It was good, better than good actually, but he couldn’t bring himself to indulge in something given to him by Monokuma. He couldn’t be trusted. He always had ulterior motives. Naegi had to be sharp and –

 _But that was different,_ his brain suddenly reminded him. Enoshima had been behind that Monokuma. This Monokuma was declawed; masterless.

 _You can’t hurt them anymore_ , he thought viciously. _We beat you_.

Monokuma continued to smile. Out of spite, Naegi grabbed another piece and ate it in one bite. He started choking immediately, of course.

Monokuma reached over, and hit him on the back.

It worked. He coughed up the bit he was choking on, but he shoved the arm away anyways, skin heating up with anger at the unwanted contact. Monokuma teetered with the momentum, weight shifting from foot to foot as he began to stabilize. But Naegi didn’t let him. He pushed Monokuma just as Soda had, and Monokuma tipped backwards and landed on the ground. When he checked with his babysitter, Soda was giving him encouraging gestures.

Anxiety curdled within him. This was confusing. As much as Naegi hated this robot that symbolized his past, he didn’t hate it that much to be very violent. On the other hand, Soda wanted him to keep going, and he didn’t know what would happen if he turned down an order from this Despair.

Making his choice, he closed his eyes and kicked Monokuma –

. . . It turned out to be a very bad idea.

“Oww . . .”

“You realize robots are made of metal, right?” Soda asked.

“Yeah, I . . .” Naegi leaned down and rubbed his foot. “ _Oww_.”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Soda stood, a hammer in hand. He put a foot on the downed Monokuma’s chest, and menacingly brought the hammer up above his head. “First off, you shouldn’t be aiming for the big parts right away. They’re the strongest. You gotta go for the parts with weaker connections. Like . . .”

The hammer swung down. With the piecing shriek of metal against metal, the head sunk deep into the Monokuma’s shoulder joint. Sparks flew from the gaps in the dented metal. Two more strikes, and the arm detached from the body completely.

“A small hammer like this won’t do much though.” Soda casually let the hammer drop, and reached for the severed arm. “You really want to break it, you need something stronger. Like . . .”

With practiced ease, he worked the paw’s claws out. He tilted it toward Naegi, as if he thought Naegi had never seen them before. Then, he plunged the claws straight into the Monokuma’s head.

“Hah!” The Mechanic’s tongue stuck out as he laughed. “That’s the good stuff. These things can cut just about anything if you try hard enough. Here, try it. Watch out for the chest though; that’s where the bomb is.”

Honestly, Naegi had enough. He hated Monokuma . . . but there was something pitiful about brutally tearing apart a helpless robot with its own hand. But Soda had pushed the arm into his chest, and the Mechanic was telling him to do it. His skin prickled; it was the same thing that happened when Kamukura stared at him a little too long, or Komaeda’s smile stretched too wide after Naegi gave an unsatisfactory answer.

So, he did it, even though the sound made his arms tense so much they cramped. He did it a few times. When he looked back, Soda was staring at the wreckage, mouth wide open in horror. There was a trace of tears in those eyes . . . what was happening?

“Uh, Soda-kun?”

Soda twitched, as if shaking a spell off. “I put a piece of myself in all of my creations. That’s why . . . that’s why all the bears can make their teeth pointy. And to see them . . . to watch them be torn apart right in front of me so coolly . . . it’s terrible.”

But Soda had told him to do it! Nevertheless, Naegi shuffled his feet and mumbled, “Sorry. I didn’t know they meant so much to you.”

A beat.

Soda snickered.

“Sorry?” he repeated, wiping his eyes. “ _Sorry_? No, it’s . . . it’s _terrible_! I worked so hard to figure out how to mass-produce those, and you hate them so much you gotta rip ‘em apart on sight even after all my sweat and tears . . . Come on, Naegi-kun. Go break some more robots!”

Soda’s eyes were blood red. Mad swirls danced within them. Naegi took a step back; his grip tightened on the robot’s arm.

“I d-don’t . . .”

“At least tell me how much of a loser I am for wasting my time on these.” There was one way to describe how Soda was looking at him: _ravenous_. “Tell me how you think they’re hideous. That your grandma could have done a better job. Come on, Naegi-kun. _Please_. Our mistress did it all the time!”

That was the last straw. Anger lent the strength he needed to make his words strong and steady. “I am not Enoshima.”

The lights suddenly seemed to dim. Soda was silent, but only for a moment.

“Fine,” he spat. “Then tell me about how I’m nothing but a coldblooded murderer. Tell me you hate me for creating the things that executed your friends.”

Naegi stared at him. Something cold licked at his feet and climbed steadily upward –

“ _Unauthorized emotional turmoil!_ ”

The shouts of the Monokumas stopped them right in their tracks. A single robot detached from the throng, and tackled Soda. The two fell into the workbench, hitting it with a yelp. Though the robot was short, it was heavy and when the two landed, the Monokuma was on the Mechanic’s chest.

“Hey, get off me!” The robot instantly obeyed. Soda turned on it, yelling, “What was that for?”

The robot saluted. “Level 3 Decree from Komaeda Nagito, Ultimate Lucky Student: attempts to bring despair to Naegi Makoto, Ultimate Hope, must have his prior approval.”

“He’s your therapist now?” Soda complained. “And I wasn’t trying to drive him into despair or whatever that was. I just wanted a little for myself.”

Really? Was that it? Was that all it would take to stop this? Naegi almost didn’t want to, just out of principle, but now wasn’t the time for pride. So, he pushed aside his reservations, and braced himself.

“Soda-kun . . . you smell pretty bad.”

It wasn’t a lie. He smelt like oil and sweat and burning metal.

It was enough for the Mechanic to light up with happiness.

“She used to say that all the time!” he squealed.

Mission complete, he supposed. Naegi felt dirty.

“I kind of feel bad for you, having to spend so much time with that obsessed freak. I bet he never shuts up.” Soda rolled his eyes, a slight curl to his lips as he talked about Komaeda. “I could always override his orders for you.”

“It’s fine,” Naegi said. In fact, he very much approved of this particular order from Komaeda.

“Okay. Tell one of us if you change your mind though. Everybody but you has higher clearance than Komaeda because he’s a nutjob. Let’s get started on that TV!”

“Right,” Naegi said quietly. He looked once more at the crowd of Monokumas. Many of them hadn’t budged from their previous position; they waited with their arms still in salute. Naegi swallowed down his lingering fear, and then turned his back to them.

* * *

“Hey, pass me the slothead.”

Order received. Locating slothead screwdriver . . . object located. Mission objective: deliver object to Soda Kazuichi, Ultimate Mechanic.

He handed over the screwdriver. Soda took it with barely a word, focused on his work.

Mission completed. Returning to standby status.

His headset crackled to life. Another soldier in the building spoke. ‘ _New decree level 0 from Kamukura Izuru. Kamukura Izuru is to be kept informed of who is with Naegi Makoto, Ultimate Hope.’_

Message received. Level 0 clauses implemented (1. _Do not alert other members of Despair to decree_. 2. _Decree creator must be immediately informed if decree is compromised._ 3\. _Unless otherwise stated, decree may be ignored if fulfilling it would violate clause 1_ ). Overwrites level 3 decree from Komaeda Nagito: informing other members of Despair about Naegi Makoto’s, Ultimate Hope, presence is forbidden.

Clause three active. Remain silent about companion. Fulfillment of decree placed on delay.

“Alright, now hold this steady.”

Order received. Holding object.

(The harsh impact of the hammer, an inch from his fingers, didn’t bother him in the slightest).

Mission completed. Returning to standby status. . .

New arrival spotted . . . Target identified: Komaeda Nagito, Ultimate Lucky Student, clearance level two.

“I’m sorry to interrupt such two remarkable people in the middle of their work but . . . Naegi-kun? Is that you?”

Unit addressed. Answer type: affirmative.

“You -! Naegi-kun _, take that off right now!_ ”

Priority order received. Removing apparatus –

It was like being hit in the face with a bucket of ice water. Naegi gasped as the thick sludge occupying his mind vanished. The Monokuma helmet nearly fell from his shaking hands. That  . . . Soda had been evasive and told him it would help his anxiety, but he had never alluded to anything like _that_. He –

Oh. Komaeda looked _furious_.

“You put one of the helmets on him?” Komaeda demanded, voice shrill.

“He was nervous. I think all the sharp tools stressed him out or something. Plus he was having a hard timing telling everything apart and holding the nails steady. I figured it would be easier for both of us!” It was such an innocent answer that Naegi wondered if he even knew what those helmets were really for.

Komaeda fidgeted. He was clearly torn between two equally powerful desires: that of submitting to his talented classmate, and that of defending his precious Ultimate Hope. Both won out in some way; Komaeda managed to speak, but he did so with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

“The brainwashing isn’t temporary!” Komaeda said.

Soda replied, “Only if he wears it for a long time. It’s fine.”

Komaeda whined in distress. It appeared he was unable to fight Soda further, so he turned to Naegi. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Naegi shivered inside, remembering the sensation of putting on the helmet. The idea of a helmet that could brainwash you was freaky enough, but what was really scary was how quickly it acted. The second he put it on, it had been like touching a live power line to his brain; his mind had seized and completely froze up, allowing the wicked tendrils of the brainwashing helmet to slither in. He hadn’t even know anything was wrong, no matter how obvious it had been in retrospect. The obedience had seemed natural, as had the apathy. The surge of information loaded to his mind –

He froze.

His mind jumped into action, grasping desperately at the tails of the quickly fading information the helmet had given him. Because if he was remembering correctly . . .

. . . One of those pieces of knowledge had been a _map_.

“Why are you here anyways?” Soda asked Komaeda.

“It’s close to lunch,” Komaeda said. “I was –”

“Awesome. I could go for some food.” Soda swivelled in his seat until he faced Naegi. “You’re coming too, right? It’ll be like our first family meal!”

Komaeda rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, I –”

But Soda had already grabbed Naegi’s hand. “Let’s go!”

Naegi yelped and stumbled after him.

Komaeda stared after them, mouth still open, and blinked.


	15. The First Decree

They were staring at him. Everyone was staring at him. Nidai had even frozen with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth; the food had fallen out of them a while ago. Soda’s grip on his wrist was punishing, so Naegi tried to hide behind the pink-haired man. It barely did any good though, since Soda was waving and doing everything he could to draw attention.

“Guys, look who’s joining us!” Soda called. He neatly stepped out from in front of Naegi, leaving him fully exposed.

“So the kid’s feeling better, huh?” Owari said. She didn’t sit at the long table with the others, but lurked nearby in a dark corner. Drool dripped down a corner of her mouth as she watched the others eat, but she made no move to join them herself.

“Yeah,” Naegi muttered, his sarcasm apparently only audible to himself.

Tsumiki sighed, lowering her chopsticks to the table. “Oh. I was hoping I would get to nurse him back to health.”

. . . Naegi made a note to himself to never _ever_ get sick here.

Nidai laughed loudly. “Hey, kid! Sorry about the misunderstanding yesterday.”

Naegi squeezed his eyes shut, begging himself not to remember. At least Nidai didn’t take his lack of answer as an insult.

“Hey, Naegi.”  That was Kuzuryu. Feet on the table, fedora tipped over his face, he beckoned Naegi closer. “Sit over here.”

When Naegi didn’t instantly obey, Kuzuryu attempted to find the source of his hesitation. His gaze fell upon the swordswoman next to him, who was carefully glowering at the table and not at Naegi.

“You deaf, Peko?” Kuzuryu snapped. “Naegi’s sitting there!”

“My apologies. Please excuse me.”

Naegi wanted to say something, but Pekoyama had already vacated her seat. She stood soldier-like behind the grinning Yakuza. Though he didn’t want to be a part of the conflict between Kuzuryu and Pekoyama, he also felt that if he didn’t sit now, it would only humiliate the swordswoman further.

Kuzuryu smirked at the others when Naegi sat next to him. On Naegi’s other side, Tsumiki shifted her chair closer. Owari moved from her corner and circled around the table. Naegi could feel her stare on the back of his neck. He didn’t like this. He really, really didn’t like this. He didn’t even have Soda as a buffer anymore; the Mechanic had plopped down across the table next to Nidai.

Fists clenched, Naegi naturally searched for Komaeda. The white-haired boy was still in the doorway, chin tucked into his shirt’s collar. He shuffled into the room – more specifically, toward where Naegi was seated. Naegi watched him do so, feeling better now that . . .

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kuzuryu said to Komaeda.

Komaeda jerked as if he had been struck by a whip. He raised his hands in a placating manner. “Ah, sorry. I forgot myself.”

With that, Komaeda retreated to the far end of the table and sat down. Alone.

Naegi whispered, “Komaeda-kun. . .”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t quiet enough. Kuzuryu looked at him funny, and asked, “What about that weirdo?”

“You don’t need to worry about him,” Soda said. He reached over the table and playfully punched Naegi’s arm. “We’ll keep him from bothering you.”

“He’s not –”

“We get it, little dude,” Nidai said. “There’s no such thing as spending too _little_ time with Komaeda.”

“But I –“

“Just say the word, and we’ll move you out of his room,” Owari said, shooting him what she probably thought was a friendly smile.

“He’s not bothering me!” Naegi finally got out. “I like him. We’re friends.”

The entire table stared at him (save for Komaeda, who was doing his very best not to make eye contact with anyone while visibly holding back a squeal).

Then, Soda spoke. “Say, didn’t you make friends with that crazy serial killer?”

A round of ‘Ohs’ went around the table. Naegi knew his defence of Komaeda had just been dismissed as a ‘weird Ultimate Hope quirk’. Naegi tried to meet Komaeda’s eye, but the other boy was careful not to look in his direction.

A Monokuma wearing a smaller version of Kuzuryu’s suit walked up to him. He stared at it. It placed a lidded, silver platter before him, bowed, and wandered off. The stares from the others only became more intense when he grabbed the lid. He did his best to ignore them.

Lunch looked as delicious as usual, although Naegi wasn’t all that hungry. However, seeing how bothered Tsumiki and Komaeda got last time he didn’t eat everything, he really didn’t want to see how refusing to eat in front of an entire table of Despairs would go. So, he forced it all down his throat, even when his stomach began to cramp.

Nidai found it hilarious. “Look at him go! He must have been starving out there. No wonder he’s all skin and bones.”

“Y-yeah,” Owari said, tongue hanging out. “He sure looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

Naegi was unsure of what to make of her reaction. She looked like she was going to jump him for his food. He flattened himself against the back of his chair, and asked, “D-did you want some?”

Owari moaned. “Ah! He’s taunting me.”

“That’s the spirit!” Naegi’s intestines seemed to tie themselves in a knot when Nidai put his huge hand on his back. The Coach took a chicken leg and waved it in Owari’s direction. “Hey, Akane! Doesn’t this look delicious?”

The Gymnast whimpered as Nidai took a huge bite in front of her.

“Maybe we should get him some more?” Soda asked, poking at Naegi’s empty plate.

“No thanks,” Naegi said, facing Soda and only Soda. After this morning, he was much more comfortable speaking to him than the other Despairs. “I’m not –”

The words lodged in his throat. Someone – _Tsumiki_ – was touching his elbow. Her two fingers walked up his arm until her palm could slide along his shoulder to his neck. They ignited nearby nerves in their wake. Tsumiki giggled, and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“Are you sure?” she said. “A growing boy needs lots of nutrition.”

“I . . . I . . .”

It was the only word he could get out as Tsumiki’s other arm swept around and cradled his side. An icy haze slowly engulfed his thoughts. . .

He snapped out of it when the door opened.

For the second time, the table went silent.

Tsumiki had filled his vision, so he couldn’t see who had entered. However, when she drew back into herself, he saw. From the doorway, Kamukura observed the room and its inhabitants. He entered as if he hadn’t noticed that all attention was focused on him. He chose a spot halfway between Komaeda and everyone else, and stared blankly ahead as he waited for a Monokuma.

“Ah, K-Kamukura-kun!” Tsumiki said. “You’re eating with us today?”

Kamukura turned his scorching gaze on her. “Yes.”

Tsumiki threw her arms up to defend herself. “Eek! I’m sorry for bothering you!”            

The room’s volume had been cut in half, and had yet to recover. Tsumiki kept her hands to herself now, wringing them together. Kamukura’s mere presence seemed to have a dampening effect on the others – with the exception of a perkier Komaeda – and for that, he became Naegi’s favourite person of the hour.

Just then, Hanamura flung open a different door. “Ah! I’ve heard that our newest member has joined us. Tell me, what despairful things does he have to say about –?”

Hanamura trailed off.

Kamukura blinked.

“I see. The entire gang’s here,” the Chef said, much quieter than before.

Yes, Kamukura was very much Naegi’s favourite person right now. He wondered if the former Ultimate Hope had meant to be here all along, or was only here to check on his successor. Naegi knew, after all, that Kamukura had ordered the Monokuma servants to spy on him . . . and he honestly didn’t mind. He trusted Kamukura had no threatening reasons for that. He actually felt a little safer knowing such an influential person was keeping an eye on him.

That said, he still wanted to get away from here.

“Uh, where’s the washroom?” he asked, not knowing what else he could say.

Owari pointed at the exit. “Take a left. Two doors down.”

. . . That was it? No promises of an escort, or probing into ulterior motives? He half-stood, expecting to either be shoved back into his seat or have someone grab his arm. But they all kept eating. Except for Owari.

“I’ll be back soon?” he said, still confused.

He approached the exit with an odd, sideways gait so he could keep an eye on them. He passed Komaeda on the way, but the Luckster refused to be acknowledged. As surreal as it was, Naegi reached the exit unmolested. Maybe it really was that simple. He opened the door and stepped into the hall. . .

“ _Unauthorized person!”_

. . . And was immediately hauled back into the room by a person wearing a Monokuma helmet. Ultimate Despair watched in confusion – except for Kamukura who stared at Komaeda, and the white-haired boy himself who grimaced at his meal.

“Ah, sorry,” Komaeda said to the tabletop. “I forgot I asked them not to let Naegi-kun walk around unsupervised.”

“So you could keep him squirrelled away in your room, right?” Kuzuryu said with disgust. He spoke to the Monokuma soldier next. “Hey, ignore whatever that freak said. It’s fine. Just make sure one of you stay with him, and don’t let him outside or near any red zones.”

 “Red zones?” Naegi asked.

“Entrances, windowed hallways, anywhere that would be one of the first places to be attacked.” Kuzuryu lifted his fedora a tad. “We don’t want you hit by a sniper or anything.”

“ . . . Thanks.” It was better than nothing.

His second attempt to enter the hallway was much more successful. The Monokuma soldier followed behind him faithfully, so unobtrusive it was easy to forget it was there. Naegi looked left and right; for all purposes, he was alone. It was weird, almost wrong, like he had snuck into private property. It took him longer than it should have to remember the instructions to get to the washroom.

Before he entered, he turned to the soldier. “Soda-kun said I was allowed to tell you guys what to do as long as it doesn’t interfere with Ultimate Despair’s orders.”

The soldier didn’t move. “Affirmative.”

“If I give you an order, will all of you follow it, or only you?”

“If it is required, I will transmit your command to the rest of the army.”

Naegi nodded, mostly to himself. “Then . . . can you stop hurting people?”

“No,” the soldier said. “Conflicts with primary mission.”

Yeah, he knew that would be a long shot. But now nobody could say he didn’t try.

“What about individuals?” Naegi asked. “I mean, Komaeda-kun must have told you before not to hurt me.”

The soldier was silent. He liked to think that was meant as a yes, but seeing that smiling bear face only made him think of bad things.

“Then could you tell the others . . . if they see my parents, or my sister . . . don’t hurt them.”

The soldier was silent.

“My classmates, too! Kirigiri Kyoko, Aoi Asahina, Togami Byakuya, Fukawa Touko and Hagakure Yasuhiro . . . please . . . please don’t h-hurt them!”

He was crying again. He wiped his eyes, unashamed.

“Please . . . please . . .”

The soldier was silent.

“Decree accepted,” it finally said.

* * *

After lunch was weird, and that was probably an understatement. Most of Despair had left, Soda telling him that he would have the TV ready and installed by the evening. Komaeda was still present, as expected. Kamukura was, too; he looked super bored. Owari was crawling under the table looking for crumbs, and Hanamura was rooting through the trash for food.

He had to ask.

“Hanamura-kun, why don’t you make fresh food for yourself?”

The Chef ceased his rummaging. “Mama was an excellent cook. Never had a bad meal in her house. Then I became the Ultimate Chef and the idea of sub-standard meals became a mere fantasy. All my life, I’ve spoilt myself with good food. To know I’ve fallen so far I need to eat trash . . . it’s so despairing!”

“It sucks we need to eat at all,” Owari said from under the table. “Starving myself would be so much easier if I didn’t need to eat enough to stay alive and spread despair.”

. . . Naegi really couldn’t understand these people. Nor did he ever want to.

“What about the leftovers?” Naegi asked.

“Oh, I let those rot for a few days and then let prisoners have them.” Hanamura picked a crust out of the trash, and gobbled it up. “I was going to bring the newest batch to them now.”

Naegi cast an uncertain looked at Komaeda. Prisoners? That didn’t sound good. He couldn’t think of what they would need people for, other than increasing the size of their army. A kind of horrified curiosity ate at him, like he was watching from safe ground as a tsunami destroyed his hometown.

When Hanamura led a line of platter-holding Monokumas out of the room, he followed.

As far as stereotypes went, Ultimate Despair’s prison fit a lot of them. It was deep within the building, down in the basement. At some point, Naegi realized they were walking the same path Despair had dragged him through when his presence was first discovered. He would have bolted then, but when he turned around, he bumped into Komaeda’s chest. The familiar presence was enough to soothe his rattled nerves and leave him with a new resolve. He _had_ to see what was going on here. He owed it to those people.

It was dark. A pair of torches lit up the entrance to the row of cells. There were another pair midway through the section, and a last pair at the end. The light they provided was dull; he couldn’t even see the floor. He stood in the entrance as Hanamura and the Monokumas walked further in and began freely tossing food through the bars.

In the closest cells, hunched figures darted forward. The prisoners had no plates or utensils, so they scooped food off the ground with their hands. It was pitiful. Naegi, selfish as it was, was glad he couldn’t see their faces.

He had let his guard down. That’s why he yelped when Komaeda gently pushed him into the hall. The white-haired boy moved forward, blocking Naegi’s only route to the exit. He almost asked why Komaeda was doing this, but then he remembered the other boy’s _philosophy_ about despair and decided he was better off not knowing.

But the sound he had made attracted the attention of the prisoners. They looked up as one at the newcomer. Naegi didn’t know how much of him was actually distinguishable in the darkness; however much it was, they didn’t seem to recognize him.

“Eh? You came along?” Hanamura said. “I don’t know why you bothered. There’s not much to see here.”

Their job complete, he and the Monokumas walked past Naegi and Komaeda, leaving the two Lucksters in the jail. Naegi looked down the line of cells again, and at the people who stared back at him.

He jumped when Komaeda breathed into his ear.

“A blind man can’t appreciate the sun. . . Look at them.”  The bone of Komaeda’s chest cradled his back as the older boy moved in close. Komaeda’s arms lightly enclosed him, hands sliding down Naegi’s arms until the thumbs could rub circles into the back of his wrists. “These simple, dull, insignificant people. . . They’re nothing more than parasites feeding on the blood of their betters. The most they can hope for is to have the honour of being trampled as the talented climb over them and reach their proper place.”

Naegi curled his lip. He shoved Komaeda away. “That’s enough.”

Komaeda immediately shut his mouth, but he glowered past Naegi at the prisoners as if it was their fault.

Naegi stepped further into the hall. Komaeda lurked behind him. He could sense it: the usually friendly boy had morphed into something solid and sharp, like jagged glass, although none of that distain was directed at Naegi himself. He had half a mind to tell Komaeda to leave . . . but the thought of being alone gave him chills. So, he permitted Komaeda’s presence. Reluctantly.

“Why are they here?” Naegi asked.

Komaeda shrugged. “In case we need them. Sometimes, Soda-kun needs bodies to test his inventions, or Tsumiki-san gets bored and wants a new patient.”

Naegi didn’t look at him. “You guys are terrible.”

Naegi took another step, stepped into the torchlight. The nearest prisoner, pressed against the bats, stirred. A face Naegi could not see turned towards him. The prisoner reached out a hand, grimy and trembling.

“I know you,” the prisoner said. “You were my mission . . . Naegi. Naegi Makoto from Hope’s Peak.”

All heads turned toward him. Naegi stood stock-still, uncertain.

“They found you first,” the prisoner whispered. “We failed.”

“I . . .”

“Don’t touch him.” With a snap of his wrist, Komaeda swatted the prisoner’s hand away. “Come on, Naegi-kun. There’s no need for you to be in such a hopeless place.”

Naegi tried to argue, tried to resist, but Komaeda was hauling him along with a startling strength. He shut the door to the jail behind him, and his hand twitched afterwards as if trying to flick a lock.

Komaeda brushed off his sleeve. “It always bothers me when I have to deal with people like _them_. I know I’m no better, but I’ve spoiled myself by being around Ultimates. I suppose I have minimum standards now when it comes to company.”

“Those are _people_ you’re talking about!” Naegi snapped at him.

“Yes.” Komaeda sighed. “They’re your run-of-the-mill, ordinary riffraff that you find in every gutter and under every rock. Nothing special.”

He’d seen hints of it, but this was the first time he’d ever seen this side of Komaeda. This arrogant, unkind, _horrible_ side of him. And there was nothing he could do. Nothing he said seemed to reach the Luckster. Komaeda had set his mind to a frequency that simply filtered out any time Naegi disagreed with his principles. He hated it! He hated this. He hated . . .

His indignation left him in one whoosh. No, he didn’t hate Komaeda.

“I’m going back to my room,” Naegi said. “I’m going to stay there. Alone.”

Komaeda nodded. “You had a long day, didn’t you? I think Soda-kun might be in there, though.”

“That’s fine.”

Naegi didn’t speak to Komaeda when the other boy escorted him to his room, except to say goodbye. He entered his bedroom. Soda wasn’t here yet, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he was. Naegi pressed his ear against the door, listening for Komaeda.

When enough time had passed, he simply opened the door again, walked out and began to roam.


	16. The Prisoner

Without members of Ultimate Despair around, the prison didn’t seem quite so dreary. Accompanied by a single robotic guard, Naegi again approached the prisoner who had spoken to him earlier. He couldn’t make out many details in the darkness. Firelight played over the man’s face, flickering around sagging skin and lingering over hollow eyes. If they were being fed, it wasn’t regularly. The prisoner had not moved from the spot that Naegi had seen him last time; his hand still hung outside the cell.

“Hey,” Naegi said quietly. He swallowed, throat dry.

The prisoner’s head rolled in its socket. “Where . . . you’re alone?”

“Yeah. I don’t think they care what I do unless I try to leave.” He sat down cross-legged just beyond the prisoner’s reach. The robotic bear remained standing, eyes fixed on him. It was creepy, but whenever his palms began to sweat, he remembered that pitiful sight of Monokuma struggling to stand after Soda had knocked it over.

“Even if they don’t care, they’ve still captured you,” the prisoner said. “Why? What are they going to do to you?”

“I wish I knew. What’s your name?”

“Iwata Torio.”

In regular conversation, this would be the time to exchange pleasantries. But it was a flat-out lie to say something like ‘Nice to meet you’ when in these circumstances, it would have been better if they had never met at all. Everything nice or comforting Naegi could think of saying would be equivalent to taunting. The two barely had any common ground. They may both be prisoners, but Naegi was staying in a warm, furnished room getting meals shoved down his throat and Iwata was stuck in a dirty cell.

In the end, he could only think of one thing to say.

“I’m sorry.”

“I knew the risks,” Iwata said. “I only regret that I couldn’t save you.”

Naegi looked away. “You shouldn’t have . . . Why? Why me?”

There was shuffling in the cells around them. Iwata reached his thin hand through the bars, and gripped Naegi’s in turn. His words shook when he spoke, yet a strength Naegi did not understand lined them.

“You’ve been out there. You’ve seen the world. Now, imagine that everywhere. Every city, town, village . . . all like that.” Iwata’s voice grew distant. “For months, that’s all we’ve seen. Devastation as far as the eye can see. A world of darkness and despair, with nothing to look forward to except a meaningless death. Then, the Killing Game started. Ultimate Despair mounted televisions everywhere to make sure everyone watched. It was supposed to be their coup de grâce, the final stroke that would eliminate any chance of the world’s recovery.

“But you were there. You refused to give into despair. And when despair failed to consume you, there was hope again.  Your gift to the world . . . you’ve given us a chance for a future. That is why I risked myself to save you. I would do it again without hesitation.”

“Everyone keeps saying I’m special, but I’m not. I’m just an ordinary person,” Naegi said. Frustration edged him onwards, but he didn’t really get what was upsetting him.

“You’re the Ultimate Hope, Naegi-kun.” For the first time, there was some light in Iwata’s eyes.

Should he be flattered? Maybe, but he wasn’t. Because this was the problem. Somehow, two words, two words spoken in the heat of an emotional moment (he thought it was, at least), now defined him. He was no longer Naegi Makoto, but the Ultimate Hope and . . . and he wasn’t. Nothing about him had changed. He was still the same person. Yet, suddenly people were insisting on kidnapping him, and risking their lives for him and . . . it just wasn’t right.

“The Future Foundation,” Iwata said abruptly. “That’s the name of the organization that sent me. If you get out, look for them. They’ll protect you.”

“Thanks,” Naegi said. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Iwata shook his head. His hand withdrew back into the cell; cool air kissed the place it had been.

“Survive,” Iwata told him. “Just . . . survive.”

That answer bothered him. He leaned back and looked around. But apart from the other prisoners, the only thing here was the robot, watching him silently. It looked harmless . . . but he already knew they were spying on him for Kamukura. He couldn’t put it past the rest of Despair to not do the same. Would they care if he was down here consorting with prisoners? He didn’t know. And if they did, it probably wouldn’t be him that paid the price.

“When did they get you?” Naegi asked. It was a cruel question. Naegi himself didn’t like to think about how long his captivity had lasted. Yet he couldn’t stop himself. If Iwata had been captured after his kidnapping, then he might know about his friends.

“Two weeks after your victory,” Iwata said.

Oh. So he didn’t know. Naegi nodded at him, and then stood. He lingered there, not knowing what to say.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he finally said. “I’m not sure how, but I’ll figure out something.”

“No. Just get yourself out,” Iwata said.

That wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t be much of an _Ultimate Hope_ if he ignored their plight. But, he decided not to say that aloud.

“Come on,” he said to the robot as he left the jail, “there’s another reason I came out here.”

A couple of short trips later, Naegi had a pencil and papers in one hand, and a Monokuma helmet tucked under the other. After the last incident, Komaeda had been spooked enough to order the Monokumas to immediately remove the helmet if they spotted Naegi wearing it. Well, that’s exactly what he was banking on.

Once he located a deserted hallway, Naegi set the papers and pencil down at his feet, and glanced at the robot following him. It stared at him, mouth fixed into that sinister smile.

“Here goes,” he murmured.

He put the helmet on.

This time, he expected the shock and although he wanted it, his mind still tried to resist. It only made the current running through him stronger, sharper as it pierced his defences and burrowed through –

“ _Forbidden use of helmet!_ ”

And the electricity was gone. The Monokuma had to stand on its tippy-toes to reach, but it still tore the helmet off. Naegi grimaced. That . . . had been uncomfortable. Eyes closed, he went back through all the information. . .

Ah. He hadn’t worn it long enough.

He turned to the Monokuma. “Stay here.”

He walked down the hall. So long as the bear could see him and thus, follow the order to supervise him, it should obey his command. When he was as far away as he could possibly get, he put the helmet on again.

That was better. This time, when the helmet was removed, Naegi’s mind still flashed with the knowledge he had been granted. A two-dimensional map etched in lines of silver shone behind his eyes. His own location on it pulsed like a dot on radar. Before the image slipped away, he grabbed the paper and traced as much as he could. When he was done, he slapped it against the wall, leaned back and admired his work.

“That’s it for this section,” he said aloud. The map that had been burned into his mind had been centered around his current location, so that’s what he had drawn.

He nodded at the Monokuma. “Let’s move on.”

The robot may not have been programmed to respond properly, but it made him happier to pretend he had somebody to talk to. As nobody had come out to stop him, he was pretty sure nobody other than Kamukura was using them to watch him. And Kamukura probably didn’t care what he was doing. He walked to a bend in the hall –

The Monokuma jumped in front of him. “ _Forbidden area!_ ”

“A red zone, huh?” Naegi said as the Monokuma waved its paws wildly. He marked it down on his map. According to Kuzuryu, red zones were areas that would be infiltrated first – in other words, areas that must have ways out. That was definitely something he needed to remember.

He walked inward. The Monokuma waddled behind him, stopping when he did, wobbling on its feet when he did so quickly. At one point, it started to dance and Naegi could find absolutely no reason for it.

Yep. Enoshima definitely designed him.

All in all, it went smoother than he expected. Especially considering his luck. He let the Monokuma carry the helmet; the sight of it hauling along what appeared to be its own kin’s decapitated head was a little humorous. Section by section, his map expanded. By the fourth go, he was feeling awfully good about himself.

So naturally, that’s when his bad luck had to rear its ugly head.

. . . Or maybe not. There were much, much worse fates than getting that helmet removed only to see Kamukura at the end of the hall.

“Uh, hi,” Naegi said, hands still in the position they had been when putting the helmet on. “How long were you watching?”

“Since the last time,” Kamukura said.

Oh. Naegi hadn’t noticed Kamukura stalking him. It wasn’t that surprising or embarrassing if he thought about it. Kamukura probably had some Ultimate Spy or Ultimate Hunter or Ultimate Creepy Stalker mixed in there.

“Why are you putting it on again?” Kamukura asked. “You saw the map.”

“I did, but it’s not like I would be able to remember it well enough.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Well, no.” Naegi gave Kamukura a long look. “Most people can’t.”

Kamukura seemed puzzled by that. It was probably difficult for a genius like him to understand the limited capacities of regular people. The longhaired boy didn’t seem like he wanted to say anything else, so Naegi turned back to his map and thought about the next part he wanted to sketch out  . . .

Only for Kamukura to deftly snatch it from his fingers. Naegi didn’t even bother to wonder how Kamukura had cleared the distance so quickly.

Kamukura held his hand out. “Give me the pencil.”

Naegi did. Kamukura put the paper against the wall, and went to work in a flurry of lines and curves. He moved so quickly it was impossible to keep track of his hand. The image seemed to form at once, like a picture slowly fading into view.

He tipped his hand towards Naegi. He took the paper and pencil back.

“My map,” he murmured, “you finished it. I . . . why?”

“Repetition is very dull. It’s the same result you would have gotten,” Kamukura droned. Now that Naegi looked at it closely, he noticed that Kamukura had actually mimicked his own lackluster art skills.

“Thank you.”

Kamukura gave him a cold, emotionless look. Naegi wasn’t bothered at all. That expression seemed to be Kamukura’s default look, just like Kirigiri’s stoic mask or Togami’s sneer. It didn’t actually mean Kamukura was upset with him.

Kamukura’s head tilted slightly to the side. “For ordinary people, how many times would they need to look at that map to memorize it?”

Naegi shrugged, scanning it himself. “I don’t think they ever would, honestly.”

Kamukura mulled over that. Then he walked off abruptly, leaving Naegi in the middle of a question.

Naegi still hadn’t quite closed his mouth when the Ultimate Yakuza and his bodyguard came upon him. Thankfully, he had possessed the sense to stuff the map into his hoodie’s hood when he first heard the approaching footsteps. Kuzuryu gave a little start upon seeing him loitering in the hallway. Soon enough though, the Yakuza’s lips curled into a smirk, a dire contrast to the faint scowl that had appeared on Pekoyama’s.

“Hey, Naegi.” Kuzuryu strutted over. He moved in a way that was reminiscent of someone six feet tall. “You busy?”

“No,” Naegi said uncertainly.

Kuzuryu’s smirk grew. “You can come with us, then.”

“Uh, I . . .”

He backed away. Right into Pekoyama who had silently moved behind him. She hooked him under the upper arm, and pulled him along behind her master. Naegi’s weight didn’t even slow down her stride.

He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but it looked like they had dragged him into Kuzuryu’s room. While it had the same general Hope’s Peak-like design of the other two rooms he had seen, the colour of this room was black and white modern-style. The comforter on the bed was much plusher than the other two he had seen – it almost looked like you could suffocate under it. Instead of a desk, this room had a glass table in the center. On one side of the table sat a towering, black armchair. The other side held a lower, similarly coloured couch. Kuzuryu slipped off his suit-jacket and seated himself in the armchair, crossing one leg over the other. Pekoyama pushed Naegi down into the couch, and then moved to stand by Kuzuryu’s side.

“Uh, aren’t you going to sit?” Naegi asked her.

Kuzuryu cackled. “Like an equal? Good one, Naegi! Peko, what’s your answer?”

“I have not earned the right to sit,” she said robotically. Her dull expression never even twitched.

“Good girl.”

Naegi clenched his fists. “Why are you treating her like that?”

“Because that’s how she deserves to be treated,” Kuzuryu hissed. “She’s just a tool to be used as I see fit. She’s lucky I even gave her a name!”

A sinister gleam swirled in the Yakuza’s eyes. He’d seen that before, hadn’t he? Yes, in Soda after he had watched Naegi destroy his robot; in Tsumiki when she had vowed to the digital Enoshima that she would take care of him. Even in Enoshima herself when she had prepared to press the button that would bring about her demise. Yes . . . this was despair.

“You thirsty?” Kuzuryu snapped his fingers and a previously unseen Monokuma (wearing a tuxedo) walked out from the corner and saluted.

“. . . No thanks.”

Kuzuryu ordered the robot to get him a tea, and then turned his attention back to Naegi. Atop his raised knee, his fingers weaved together. He leaned forward slightly, adopting a predatory stance. He . . . he looked very much like the head of the Yakuza in that moment.

“Look, I know we got off to a bad start,” Kuzuryu said. “But you can’t blame me. How was I supposed to know you had some fucked-up family relation with her?” (Naegi bit his tongue; the last thing he wanted to do was remove Kuzuryu’s reason for not hurting him) “It’s not going to happen again, okay? Yakuza’s honour.”

“Does a Yakuza’s honour really mean that much?” It slipped out before he could stop it.

Kuzuryu glared at him. Steam seemed to rise from his face –

And he burst out laughing.

“Okay, you got me!” Kuzuryu chuckled one more time, and wiped away nonexistent tears. “It _used_ to. Not anymore. I’ll rephrase that: from one Despair to another, it won’t be happening again.”

“I’m not part of Despair.” Again, it was stupid to say it, but it was also something Naegi couldn’t let go uncorrected.

Kuzuryu’s jaw tightened.

“I thought we could finally have our first friendly conversation,” Kuzuryu said. He had one hand cradling his chin now. His other hand lay on the armrest, fingers drumming on the leather. “The Detective rub off on you or something?”

“Huh?”

“Kirigiri. She hated me before she met me.”

“No,” Naegi said. “It’s just that I’m not one of you –”

“Okay _,_ _enough_. Stop that shit. We’re starting over right now. I’m Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko, Ultimate Yakuza.” He extended a hand. Naegi stared at it before accepting the handshake.

“I’m Naegi Makoto, Ultimate . . .” He hesitated. “ . . . Hope?”

When he got his hand back, he tried to offer a handshake to Pekoyama. Both Fuyuhiko and she looked at him oddly.

“That’s Pekoyama,” Fuyuhiko said, “but you can call her whatever the hell you want.”

Naegi opened his mouth to say hi, but shut it again when Pekoyama looked at him sharply.

“I exist to serve the Young Master,” Pekoyama said. “ _Only_ him.”

“You’ll serve Naegi if I tell you to,” Kuzuryu said.

Pekoyama bowed her head. “Of course, Master.”

With his subordinate sufficiently cowed, Kuzuryu returned his attention to Naegi. “So, why don’t you tell me about yourself? I didn’t pay much attention to you back in school.”

“Uh, there’s not much to tell. I’m pretty average in most things, except I’m really optimistic. That’s why everyone’s calling me the Ultimate Hope. There really isn’t anything that special about me,” he finished lamely.

Kuzuryu studied him for a full ten seconds.

“Well, what did you do for fun?” Kuzuryu asked. “I can get you anything you want, you know.”

“I, uh, I mostly hung out with my friends. I played video games, too. I can’t remember my life in Hope’s Peak, but it was probably mostly the same.”

“Lay off the goody-two shoes act, okay?” Kuzuryu demanded. “I’m the Ultimate _Yakuza_. There’s nothing you could have done that I’ve never seen before. So tell me all about those wild parties and petty crimes.”

“There’s nothing to tell, though. I wasn’t a criminal. I don’t think I was. And I didn’t go to those kind of parties in middle school. Maybe in high school, but I wouldn’t remember.”

Kuzuryu was quiet, waiting for an answer Naegi didn’t have.

“Fuck, that’s boring,” he said after. “Most Ultimates have something to share by then. No wonder Enoshima-san chose you. She must have thought it would be a challenge to make something out of nothing. Or maybe she just chose you because you were a blank slate.”

Naegi stared at the ground and didn’t say anything.

Kuzuryu cocked his head. “Giving me the silent treatment? Is it your naptime or something? Whatever. Guess we’re done for now. Come to me if you need something though. I can get anything without making you jump through those crazy hoops Komaeda sets out. Peko, take him back to his room.”

“Yes, Young Master.”


	17. The Swordswoman

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I can find my way back myself. Probably. And I wouldn’t mind looking around a little more . . .”

“The Young Master told me to escort you back to your room.” Pekoyama stared down her nose at him. “We are going there.”

 . . . Well that didn’t work. Naegi chewed on his lower lip. Pekoyama snapped her gaze forward. Her gait was strong and brisk, and Naegi was on the cusp of jogging to keep up.

“I know you don’t like me very much,” Naegi said. “I . . . I’m sorry? Was it something I said earlier? I know Kuzuryu-kun got mad when I told him I wasn’t part of Ultimate Despair, but it’s true. I’m not like you –”

“Don’t.”

Naegi frowned. “Huh? I –”

“I said _don’t_!”

Pekoyama swiftly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Her arm swung up, fingers closing around the grip of the sword sheathed on her back. Her red eyes blazed with anger; a hint of teeth flashed as she snarled.

“Do _not_ compare me to them,” she hissed.

There was only one reason she could resent the comparison. And it was unbelievable. She was _here_ , wasn’t she? She was helping them. How could she not . . . ?

He had to confirm it. “Pekoyama-san, are you saying that you’re _not_ part of Ultimate Despair?”

“I am an extension of the Young Master’s will.” Some of the heat had left her voice. Naegi didn’t know if it was because his question had soothed her, or she realized on her own she was going too far. “Through him, perhaps, I am an agent of Despair. But I will never belong to it.”

“That’s . . .” _That’s unbelievable,_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he kept quiet as he did not know how she would take that. “You mean you’ve been here all this time and you’ve still managed to resist despair?”

“I have no choice.” Slowly, Pekoyama’s arm returned to her side. “My Young Master lives only for despair now. That is why he must betray his conscience, enslave his allies, hurt those closest to him . . .” She hesitated for a moment, and then turned her back to him quickly. “Every cruel word he says is a plead to feed his craving, and my pain . . . that is what brings him despair. If I were to give into despair now, I would begin to enjoy his cruelty. I would deprive him of that despair. And that . . .” Her braids swung through the air as she stepped forward and turned on her heels. “That is why I continue to endure. For the sake of my Young Master, I cannot despair!”

That kind of loyalty, it was something Naegi could not understand. If Kirigiri or Asahina or any of his friends had succumbed and joined Ultimate Despair, he couldn’t have remained loyal to them. He would have tried to help them, yes, to cure them, but he could never assist them.

“Pekoyama-san, I can see that you’re very loyal to Kuzuryu-kun, but is that even who he really is anymore? I mean I don’t think he was always like this . . .”

Naegi stopped. Pekoyama’s very sharp, very dangerous sword hovered an inch from his jugular.

“I am still here,” she said fiercely. “I am still alive. He calls me _Peko_. My Master still lives somewhere within him. So long as a trace of him remains, my duty is to him. If this is the path he has taken, then I will follow.”

“Is that what he would have wanted?” Naegi asked. “Not this Kuzuryu-kun, but the one you first knew and trusted. Do you think that Kuzuryu-kun would have wanted you to go this far?”

“What he wanted doesn’t matter,” Pekoyama said. “What he _wants_ is all I care about.”

“But to be able to support him no matter what he does, to back him in schemes no matter how cruel, even when you know he never would have wanted that  . . . isn’t that in itself a betrayal?”

Pekoyama was silent. The tip of her sword quivered.

It was pure, primal instinct that warned him. He actually tripped when he tried to move . . . treating him to a close-up look of Pekoyama’s sword as it passed over his face. Spider-web cracks branched out from the blade where it embedded itself in the wall.

“How dare you.” A shadow had settled over the swordwoman’s face. Her bangs covered them, yet the red of her eyes seemed to shine through.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to insult you-!”

“You are just like her,” Pekoyama said as Naegi scrambled into a sitting position. “Preying on doubt and insecurity, manipulating and controlling with words. I’ve seen what you’ve done to Komaeda Nagito. He’s become . . . aggressive. You’ve turned him into a guard dog.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Naegi shouted back from the ground. “He’s the one who chose to do all that. I just want him to let me go!”

Her hands grabbed his lapels, knuckles turning white from pressure. She lifted him up, and held him against the wall. The glint in her red eyes swelled and swallowed the world, painting it in shades of scarlet.

She asked, “Why should I listen to the words of Ultimate Despair?”

In that following instant, he forgot. He forgot about her title and the impaled sword less than a foot from his brain. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed, although she didn’t seem to feel it.

“I am not one of them!” he bit out. “There’s no way I would ever give in!”

She met his eyes coldly. “So you say.”

He had to remind himself to breathe and did so aggressively, heating up the air between them. Pekoyama did not falter. She was still holding him up by his shirt, and his collar dug into his neck. His fists were clenched and shaking, whether from fear or insult, he couldn’t tell. Electricity danced along his skin, jumping from muscle to muscle. He opened his mouth, not sure of what would come out –

“ _Despair in danger!_ ”

In one swift movement, Pekoyama released him, spun around, and sliced the lunging Monokuma robot in two. Unprepared, Naegi hit the floor hard. Pekoyama half-turned to him. Her sleek sword glimmered with oil.

“She was supposed to be gone,” Pekoyama said. “It pained my Master greatly, but I was so glad she was dead. But now you are here. She survives through you. Her influence is as resilient as a cockroach.”

“Is this about that weird stuff Komaeda-kun said?” he asked. “He’s wrong. I’m not like her. I’m not Enoshima or her kid or anything.”

“Whether you truly are or are not connected to Enoshima Junko is irrelevant,” Pekoyama said. “What matters is that they _believe_ you are. You are the Ultimate Hope . . . and now, you have become Ultimate Despair’s hope. They are energized by your presence. All the damage wrought by Enoshima’s death has been reversed.”

“That . . . that can’t be true!” It was a good thing he was already sitting, because his legs would have given under him otherwise. He was helping despair? No. No, he couldn’t be! There was no evidence for that. It was wrong!

Her grip shifted on her sword. Her glare alone was sharp enough to draw blood.

“Get up.”

When Naegi hesitated, she forced him to his feet. She grabbed him up the upper arm again, and hauled him along. He didn’t fight her as Pekoyama marched him down the hall. At one point, she glanced sideways and visibly startled.

Naegi looked.

Oh. How long had Kamukura been watching?

Pekoyama picked up her pace. She twitched as though she was stopping herself from checking behind her. Naegi, however, was unbound by similar restrictions and did so freely. Kamukura steadily followed them; he didn’t even seem to blink. He had a very particular walk. His steps made no noise, and neither his arms nor his shoulders moved.

“Here.” Pekoyama shoved him towards the bedroom door – which now indeed did have his nameplate on it. “My job is done.”

She walked away, giving Kamukura a wide berth as she strode past him. Kamukura didn’t even look at her.

“Naegi Makoto. My understanding is that you are fairly skilled at reading others.”

“I guess?” Naegi half-shrugged. “I mean I get along with most people so I guess I’m sort of good at it.”

There was a long pause. It seemed to be a normal thing when dealing with Kamukura.

“I knew you would entice that response from her, yet . . . why?” Kamukura asked. He blinked. The physical movement seemed more forced than natural. “Were you aware she was under orders not to harm you?”

“She was? It didn’t really seem like it.”

“. . . You must lack an instinct for self-preservation.”

“Hey! That’s not -!”

“I have never seen a creature so determined to stack the odds against itself,” Kamukura continued. “Is your bad luck an extension of that?”

“I’m not trying to sabotage myself! It’s just who I am,” he mumbled, cheeks heating up.

Another typical silence.

“I see.”

What . . . what did that mean? Kamukura hadn’t moved, but his body language suddenly seemed a lot more threatening. Keeping the wall to his back and his eyes on Kamukura, Naegi fumbled for the doorknob. Once he found it, he ripped the door open and leapt inside.

He had about three seconds of relief before Kamukura simply opened the door and followed him in.

Damn it.

“I was hoping for some alone time,” Naegi  complained.

Kamukura stared at him. At least he would be quiet. But who was that speaking in the background?

Naegi turned slowly, still wary of exposing his back to Kamukura. There, mounted on the wall opposite from his bed, was the television Soda had promised him. It was a good size, and the picture was sharply defined, it was just . . . just . . .

What was it showing?

It was a gathering of some sort. Most of the people within the crowd wore Monokuma masks. They stood in a wide circle around a raised wooden platform, leaving a path between the platform’s stairs and off-screen. A sudden cheer started up, and a few seconds passed before a smiling, waving girl walked into sight of the cameras. Sonia Nevermind, Ultimate Princess extraordinaire, blew a kiss toward her adoring crowd before walking up the steps to the platform, passing between two torches on the way. She was followed by a platoon of royal guards and a red-haired girl holding a camera.

“Is that what everyone is watching right now?” Naegi asked. Kamukura didn’t answer. He probably thought the question was dumb.

The Princess was speaking some language he didn’t understand. She beckoned to something off-screen and then, down the same path she had tread, came a line of shackled prisoners. Each one was attended to by a guard on each side. Naegi couldn’t make out their faces from this distance, nor did he know why they were here. The first man in line was singled out and dragged onto the platform. Sonia turned to her audience, speaking loudly, boldly, and behind her, one of the guards took a long piece of metal and held it in the hot flames . . .

“Kamukura-kun, how do I turn this off?”

Kamukura didn’t answer.

“Kamukura-kun-!”

His spine shuddered as the wails from the television started up. His back was to the screen, but he could hear enough in those screams to picture the scene. He ran to the shelves, looking for anything resembling a TV remote.

Kamukura sighed. “This is so predictable.”

He took one of his novels, and used that to shield his eyes. He hated getting closer to the source of the screaming, as if he were actually walking into the real-life set itself, but he had to. He groped at the edges of the television, searching for a panel or a way to reach a power chord, but the television had been bolted directly into the wall. There was no way to get behind to where the power was, and the television itself had no buttons. Naegi paused to think, breathing hard, and the screams he was hearing suddenly cut off.

The silence was worse.

He didn’t dare look. Without the possibility of turning the set off himself, he hammered on the right wall, calling out Komaeda’s name. Hardly a second passed before the white-haired boy poked his head in.

“Naegi-kun!” he purred. “You remembered me!”

Naegi pointed at the television. “How do you turn this off?”

Komaeda looked confused for a second. “Ah, don’t worry about that. It’s already set to turn off automatically at ten every night.”

“Okay, but I want it off _now_. Or I want to change the channel or something. Isn’t there a way for me to do that?”

Komaeda hummed to himself softly. He sauntered into the room calmly, hands in his pocket. “I’m glad you called me. I was just about to go looking for you anyways. Talk about lucky!”

“. . . The channel?”

“Yes, we’ll need to change that,” Komaeda said. “This isn’t the right channel. It’s not the one we want.”

Naegi went quiet. Something wasn’t right. Komaeda was agreeing but his face had glazed over the same way it did whenever he chose not to really listen. He strolled past Naegi to the edge of the bed and sat down. He look he gave Naegi afterwards was friendly, but there was a layer of authority behind it that demanded to be obeyed. Feeling like a mouse approaching a cat, Naegi walked over and sat down next to him. Komaeda pulled out what was undeniably a remote, and switched channels. He flipped through them so fast Naegi couldn’t catch a glimpse of what the shows were about before the channels settled.

There was a table. Nearby, was what appeared to be a stocked medical cart from the medical center. Tsumiki was there, inspecting the cart’s items.

“I know that room,” Naegi muttered. His stomach was heavy.

Komaeda patted his hand. “Just think hopefully, Naegi-kun.”

For a while, it was just that: Tsumiki hovering around the cart. The room’s single light cast long, grotesque shadows that writhed every time the nurse moved.

Then, another entered. Two others, to be exact. It was deja-vu; perhaps it wasn’t Nidai there, but Naegi could certainly see himself in the struggling man Owari hauled in. He couldn’t believe how strong she was, especially when she was skinny enough to imagine snapping in two. That said, she had trouble pulling the man onto the table. Naegi wouldn’t have thought Tsumiki would make much of a difference, but apparently she did because the two of them were successfully able to lift and strap him down.

Naegi tried to look at Komaeda for reassurance, but the Luckster grabbed his chin and pointed it back at the screen, whispering, “It’s about to start.”

Both Tsumiki and Owari moved away from the table, leaving a clear shot of the man. Though it was by no means a close-up, the terror there was easily read. The man’s skin was ashen, and Naegi felt his own paling in response. He could almost feel himself there struggling alongside the man, hot and icy-cold terror nipping at his heels, and lapping up the back of his throat . . .

He actually yelped when the picture changed. Whomever was directing the show must have switched the broadcasting camera because one second it had been an overhead shot of the room, and the next it was a ground shot with Tsumiki smiling and waving into the lens (Owari panted for breath in the background). Tsumiki leaned in close, giggling.

“Hello, everyone!” sang Tsumiki in her high-pitched voice. “Welcome back.”

How could she sound so carefree when that man was gasping and whimpering in the background? If Komaeda hadn’t stepped in when he had, would she have been that way when it had been him on the table? The world blurred the more he thought about it and once again, he was there on that table, ankles and wrists held as nails sliced into his lips . . .

“I know our show doesn’t usually run this day. I hope nobody had to choose between watching me and anyone else . . .”

“Yeah, they did,” Owari said, yawning widely. “Sonia’s executing some traitors today.”

“Eek!” Tsumiki’s hair flew up with her screech. “Ah, Your Majesty, I’m so sorry! Please don’t be mad.”

But then her tone dropped. Shadows played on her face, giving it a grey, fae-like appearance .

“But I had to do it.”  There was no more timid-ness there. Just something Naegi couldn’t describe. Something . . . sinister. “We’re celebrating a very special occasion after all.”

And she was bright and happy again. “We have a new addition to the family!”

“ . . . She’s talking about me, isn’t she?” Naegi said.

Komaeda said, “I promised her I’d make sure you saw her show.”

As if she could hear them, Tsumiki waved. “Hi, Makoto! Make sure you watch closely. I’m going to teach you all about my work. Ah, let’s see . . . We were supposed to start off with a demonstration this time, right? Owari-san, do we have any requests from the viewers?”

“Hold on, I’m still looking.” Tongue sticking out between her teeth, Owari exaggeratedly shifted through some letters. “Oh hey, here’s a good one. Apparently, you never tried out that green stuff you made two weeks ago.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Tsumiki giggled some more behind her hand. “I promised, didn’t I? I guess it’s syringe number five, then.”

She picked up a _huge_ needle filled with some kind of glowing, green liquid. Or maybe it was more accurate to say goo; when she swished it from side to side, the liquid was notably viscous.

“It’s a big one,” Tsumiki said, looking like she was about to laugh at some inside joke. “So long and hard . . .”

Next thing Naegi knew, Komaeda had clamped his hands over his ears. Komaeda still wouldn’t let Naegi look away, but at least he no longer had to hear the man’s distressed noises.

Tsumiki turned her back to the camera and faced the table, and Komaeda removed his hands. Naegi looked at him questioningly.

Arms crossed, glaring at the wall, Komaeda said, “You’re too young.”

Somewhere in the background, Kamukura sighed.

When Komaeda forced his chin back towards the screen, it was to see a Monokuma wearing a white lab-coat and stethoscope. The bear stood in front of a giant spinning wheel, like one you would see in a game show. Each of the wheel’s slices had a different body part on it, and the Monokuma laughed similarly to Tsumiki when the wheel landed on ‘ _underneath fingernail_ ’.

“Okay!” A bit of liquid fell from the needle’s tip as she held it high. “Here we go!”

Oh god. He understood – oh god. He desperately tried to yank his eyes away, but Komaeda had other plans. He moved his legs so that they boxed Naegi in on either side, and grabbed his chin with both hands to hold it in place.

“You’re going to hurt her feelings,” Komaeda said, as if that actually was the issue here. “She’s so excited to do this for you.”

Why . . . ? Why was Komaeda making him do this? He closed his eyes; at least he had that much. But there was nothing to protect his ears. He tried to retreat into him, to shut down, but that wasn’t how his mind worked. It heard every cry, grasped at every wheeze and gargle, played them on repeat until they blended. He could _feel_ the despair seeping from the screen.

He heard Owari’s voice. “I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”

The muscles holding his eyes shut started to ache. He tensed his hands and arms just for a distraction.

“Yep. Okay. He’s done.”

It brought him relief, but only a little. He half-turned into Komaeda, hoping it was over.

“Oh, that was a good one!” Tsumiki cried. “This might be the poison she’s looking for. I hope you saw that, Makoto!”

He whimpered.

Behind him, Komaeda shifted. “Hmm, maybe that’s enough for now. We don’t want to overdo the despair. We’ll just tell Tsumiki-san you watched the whole thing.”

With the press of a button, the screen flicked off.

“I don’t understand,” Naegi said. “Why would she do something so terrible? How can she enjoy it? What’s the point?”

“For despair,” Komaeda said, and it sounded like he rolled his eyes.

 _You’re not much better,_ he wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut.

“She did it for me,” Naegi mumbled. “Does she actually think that’s what I want?”

Komaeda didn’t say anything, so Naegi kept going. “Do you . . . do you think she would listen to me if I told her to stop? I think I could make her stop h-hurting people for me, at least.”

Komaeda squeezed his shoulder in encouragement. “That’s it, Naegi-kun. Let your hope shine!”

. . . That _jerk_. He almost said something –

“Well, that was boring,” Kamukura said.

. . . Sometimes, Naegi didn’t know if he hated being locked up here or in Hope’s Peak more.


	18. The Audience

He woke up to red eyes and long black hair. Fear clogged his throat and smothered his scream. It was probably a good thing, since Tsumiki struck him as one of the least stable members of Ultimate Despair.

“Good morning!” the Nurse chimed. “How’s my little Makoto-kun?”

Tsumiki was straddling him, a hand on either side of his head, knnes at his hips. Her hair tickled his nose and grazed his lips. Was this what he had to look forward to every morning? He looked to the side, trying to calm his racing heart. Tsumiki merely saw that as an invitation to lean in closer, _closer_ . . .

“Are you still sleeping?”

“I’m awake,” Naegi said. “Good morning . . . Mikan.”

Tsumiki leaned back and he was free . . . oh. Never mind. She was touching him, brushing his hair aside and running her fingers over the stiches on his temple. He shivered. He wondered how long she had been there, waiting for him to wake up. And Komaeda . . . where was he? His eyes darted about – ah, there he was. On the ground. Rubbing his head and looking dazed. He suspected that Tsumiki had shoved him off the bed.

“The bruises will look worse before they get better, so don’t be scared when you look in the mirror today!”

Yeah, he knew that. He knew all about bruises. He was the Ultimate Unlucky Student, after all.

And Tsumiki _finally_ got off him. She moved back, settling on her knees in an upright position on the bed’s edge. Her touchy-feely hands were still in her lap.

“Did you see my show?”

She asked. She actually asked. Naegi nodded, mind frantically working as he tried to remember as much as he could without actually remembering anything.

Tsumiki clapped her hands together. A pleased sound squeezed its way out from between her lips. “Oh, which was your favourite part?”

His . . . favourite? He had hated every minute of it! But that wouldn’t go over well. Best-case scenario, she’d burst out crying. Worst-case, she’d have a repeat performance and try to make it better. Or she’d get angry. He tried to pick something, but his mind simply refused to bring up any of those images or replay any of those terrible sounds . . .

“The wheel!” he blurted out. “That wheel. It was . . . interesting.”

“I like the wheel, too!” Tsumiki said. “It was Mioda-san’s idea. She’s very good at entertaining an audience. How about I put on another special show just for you? You can be the one to spin the wheel!”

Thankfully, before Naegi panicked and said something stupid, Komaeda raised his hand and spoke from the floor. “Uh, Tsumiki-san, I know my opinion isn’t worth very much, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You know what his luck’s like. He’d probably end up injecting himself with something.”

“That’s true,” Tsumiki said, sounding the exact opposite of what Naegi felt. “Most of those poisons don’t have antidotes. But he could be part of the live audience!”

But Komaeda shot that down, too. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. He’ll still be a little too close to the syringes.”

Tsumiki crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. She looked like a pouting child. Naegi’s courage fluttered uneasily; when Despairs were upset, bad things tended to happen.

“It’s okay, Mikan-san,” he said. “I can watch it from here. I mean, it’s meant to be seen on TV anyways, so I wouldn’t miss much.”

That perked her up. She laughed and pinched his cheek, face hovering close to his as if ready to kiss him. “Oh, you’re so smart, Makoto-kun! Just like my beloved . . . I can put on another special show tonight.”

Somehow, he managed to force out a laugh. Or maybe it was just a nervous giggle. “Won’t that interfere with the scheduling? I mean you interrupted the Ultimate Princess last night, didn’t you?”

“Such a thoughtful boy,” Tsumiki muttered, voice taking on that darker shade he was introduced to last night. “I suppose I should stick to my time. I don’t want everybody getting mad at me.”

Her hand fell away. He remembered to breathe again.

“Let’s go get breakfast!” Tsumiki said. “You must be hungry.”

_Not really. How can you be, after what you’ve done? Doesn’t it make you the least bit sick to think about it?_

 . . . Apparently not. He hated her a little more for it.

* * *

Early into breakfast, having eaten very little, he slipped away with the excuse of using the washroom. All a lie, of course. He had no intention of returning there. He needed space. He needed to get away and think. He needed . . . he needed to _do_ something.

But what could he do? It didn’t matter that he was allowed to walk around; the Monokuma at his heels provided a silent reminder that he was still a captive. These people were so alien to him, so incomprehensible . . . and although they now all claimed to be looking out for him, they didn’t actually care. They respected him only as an extension of Enoshima. They didn’t care what he wanted. They didn’t care what he thought. Even Komaeda, the Remnant who doted and obsessed over him, only cared about what he represented. He didn’t care about Naegi Makoto.

Was it any wonder then that while he was thinking those thoughts, Naegi would wind up in the one place he had found some sanity? Even if it was a grimy, gut-wrenching kind? He didn’t think so. He found the quiet, dark hall of the jail a cool balm on his heated emotions.

(He refused to look at the empty cell.)

“. . . You’re back?” Iwata croaked as he sat down in front of the cell. The prisoner was on the other side, hunched over and seated in the corner.

“Yeah,” Naegi whispered. He felt guilty for not bringing any food. Some help he was.

A few of the other prisoners murmured to each other, probably about him. He didn’t mind. Other than that, it was quiet. That, coupled with the fact that none of these people were the Ultimate Despair brand of crazy, brought him the most peace he had in days

. . . Wow, how horrible was that? He was sitting with a bunch of gaunt, shaking prisoners, and he found it _peaceful_?

He couldn’t hold it back anymore. And when he started talking, he couldn’t stop. “They took one of you yesterday, right? I saw it. It was the Nurse. She wanted to show me what she did to people. She thought I’d _like_ it. She thought-

“Stop thinking about it,” Iwata ordered, a note of old power returning to him. “You need to think about how you’re going to get out of here.”

But Naegi couldn’t let it go. “She did it for me. She killed him for _me_.”

Someone laughed. It was a wheezy, choked laughter that somehow reminded him of weathered rocks. Behind him and two cells down, another prisoner dragged herself to the front of her cells. Boney fingers, like claws, wrapped around a bar.

“Did you ever consider that fate may be a blessing?” she asked.

Was she . . .? No, she couldn’t really be saying that.

A magnet’s pull directed him towards the other prisoner. His legs seemed to move by themselves. He seated himself again, cross-legged, and looked into the prisoner’s eyes. He could see the misery – the _despair_ – lurking there.

“You shouldn’t think like that,” Naegi said.

“Why not?” The prisoner’s pupils widened. They seemed to entrap him like a spotlight. “Is somebody going to save us? No. Of course they won’t. Nobody ever gets saved. We’re all slated to die.”

“. . . I won’t lie to you,” Naegi said. “That’s probably true, but you shouldn’t have to dwell on how hopeless it is.”

“No?” the prisoner laughed again: a terrible, terrible sound.

Naegi tilted his head a little to the side, watching her. “What’s your name?”

“Kido.”

. . . No full name? Well, he wasn’t that surprised. They’d just met under very miserable circumstances. “Kido-san,” he said, testing the name out. “You must have had people you cared about.”

For a moment, she looked stricken. “Why does that matter?” she said bitterly. “They’re all gone now.”

“I don’t blame you for thinking that way,” Naegi said carefully. “But it doesn’t have to be like that either.” Her face came to life for a moment. Before she could start yelling, he started talking again. “You still remember them, right? You remember them and all the good they brought. If that’s true, then they’re not gone yet. You carry them with you in your heart and soul.”

“They’re dead!” Kido shrieked. “Dead, dead, _dead!_ They killed them. I saw it!”

Naegi nodded, swallowing back just enough emotion to keep going. “I know. I’m not saying you should ignore that. I’m saying you should honour them.”

Naegi said, “Maybe it’s easier to give into despair, but you don’t have to let it take over. They may have taken your loved ones and your freedom, but they can’t take away the past. You still have all those good memories. So . . . so fight them with that! Don’t let despair win. All those good memories, let them be your shield. Take those bits and pieces of the ones you love and surround yourself with them! Why should you let Ultimate Despair have the satisfaction of winning? And if you do . . . die, then do it with the warmth and love of your family and friends in your heart, not the emptiness of despair.”

He reached out, and grabbed Kido’s hand.

“Despair won’t be forever,” he said. “Hope always wins in the end. Maybe you won’t be around to see it, but it will happen. And every time somebody refuses to give in, every time somebody refuses to choose despair, that day draws closer. So, keep fighting. Even if you can’t do it for yourself, do it for them. Avenge them.”

His thumb ran over still knuckles. The prisoner stared at the ground. Her other hand twitched.

“ . . . What are you?” she asked.

“Hope,” somebody else said. “He’s the Ultimate Hope.”

With those four words, everything changed. Naegi felt like he had been knocked out of a trance. He looked around. Every cell, save for that single empty one, now had a prisoner pressed against the door as they attempted to reach what may have been the only bit of ‘hope’ they’d seen in ages. He couldn’t describe the look in their eyes. Either way, it was something he never thought would be directed at him. It didn’t feel right. It felt wrong.

“So, this is why . . .” Iwata said. “It really is different in person.”

Naegi blinked. “Eh?”

He almost moved away, but Kido grabbed his arm.

“No, keep talking,” she said. “Tell us about the rest of them. Your classmates.”

Oh, his class! There was so many good stories he had to tell! Even if some of their fates . . . were not so nice. But now wasn’t the time and place for those; Naegi wanted just as much as them to be distracted. So, he talked about them as people, letting his affection bubble freely. He regaled with them with tales for what seemed like hours before Komaeda finally found him.

(Komaeda said nothing, but if Naegi looked, it would have been obvious he was upset).

* * *

The three adults, one female and two males, were quiet. Their eyes were fixed on the laptop on the middle of the desk, even though the screen had been tilted so that it was no longer visible. The audio, however, had been turned to the maximum and the cries coming from the speakers were of a type that meant they didn’t really need to see the video to know what it was showing. The horrible sounds rang through the small office and although all three of the listeners wore frowns, they didn’t seem that disturbed. One may say they were jaded against those kinds of sounds. The audio screeched to a stop, and the three met each other’s eyes in mutual understanding.

Sakakura Juza, Ultimate Boxer, was first to speak. He leaned his weight on the desk, one hand supporting his chin while the other tapped steadily. “I heard it. She used his name several times. There’s no possible way she was talking about anyone else.”

Yukizome Chisa, Ultimate Housekeeper, frowned even deeper, and looked from one male to the other. “So, the deception is over. Ultimate Despair has finally confirmed they are holding Naegi-kun captive.”

Seated behind the desk, with his chin on his hands, Munakata Kyosuke thought for a second. The Ultimate Student Council President then lifted his head, and spoke. “No, not yet. I watched the full broadcast. He has not appeared onscreen. The use of his name can be explained away as the Nurse hoping he was within earshot of a television. The masses do not wish to believe he has been captured, so they will believe anything that suggests the alternative. There is still time.”

Sakakura straightened up. “Then what was the point of the broadcast? If they’re still not going to announce they have him, why bother bringing him up like that?”

Munakata didn’t move. “Blame. They want Naegi to feel as though that death was his fault. With blame will come guilt and with guilt, comes despair.”

“You think that would break him? He seemed to cope fine with his classmates’ executions,” Sakakura pointed out.

“We don’t know what else they’re doing to him,” Yukizome pointed out. She bit her lower lip nervously, and Munakata’s eyes flicked to her for a moment.

“They will attempt to break him,” Munakata said. “They will try to turn him. If they succeed, then the tides will turn against us. Naegi Makoto has power with words. Especially now, his influence over the world is immense. In their hands, he would be incredibly dangerous.”

“You said we still have time though, right?” Sakakura clenched and raised his fist, as if punching his way out of this problem was viable. “What’s our next move?”

“I will speak to the Chairman. In the meantime, prepare your divisions,” Munakata ordered. “We must attempt to strike before Despair reveals their hand. Lie to your men if you must, but for now, do not tell them that Despair has captured Naegi. We need morale to stay high.”

“Got it,” Sakakura said, and Yukizome nodded and said something similar. “What else can I do?”

“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Munakata said. “There are rumours that there is an internal movement against my authority.”

Sakakura’s expression darkened, as if this alleged movement was a personal insult. He stood quickly, rattling his chair a little, and strode out of the room, eager to fulfill his duty. Munakata and Yukizome watched him leave, and then faced each other.

“Your report?” Munakata asked.

“Yes!” Yukizome nodded again, making her hair bounce a little. “Kizakura-kun and I have reached the same conclusions: we believe the members of Class 78 are legitimate survivors. We have not seen any signs of despair in them beyond the expected. They are still upset over Naegi-kun’s kidnapping, but they remain hopeful that he will be rescued.”

Munakata thought over her answer. He reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out the file of a certain, lavender-haired survivor. “What about Kirigiri Kyoko? You know that Kizakura is unfairly biased toward her.”

“I agree with his assessment of her. She’ll never admit it, but I believe Kirigiri-san is the most hopeful of them all!” Yukizome closed her eyes, making her appear adorably happy. “At least when it comes to the topic of Naegi-kun.”

“I see. Thank you. Do you have any opinions on their potential?”

Yukizome’s expression became more serious, although it still held that passionate happiness. “Togami-kun was not kidding when he told us what he was capable of. We may not need to be billionaires, but the leadership and authority his talent suggests can’t be overlooked. I think he might be right: he is ready to lead a division.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Munakata sounded a tiny bit displeased at her findings. “However, it is much too soon. Togami’s ego does not need to be built up further.”

“Other than him, I believe Kirigiri-san will make an excellent division leader in the future. She certainly has the intelligence for it, but I think she needs to become more used to working with others.”

“Thank you, Chisa.”

Yukizome stood. She gave a little bow. “Anything else you need from me?”

“Not at the moment. But Chisa?” Munakata looked up at her and a real smile touched his lips. “Thank you.”

Chisa smiled back. “I’m always here to help!”

(He didn’t suspect a thing).

 


	19. The Wall of Hope

“. . . Not bad. Whoever taught you clearly knew what they were doing, but they could have spent more time going through the basics with you!” The Ultimate Coach said that with a hearty chuckle. With gentleness surprising for his size, he nudged Naegi’s shoulders into the proper position. “There. That’s better.”

Naegi couldn’t speak. His back was slick with nervous sweat; he was surprised Nidai couldn’t smell it (Owari, on the other hand, he thought had wrinkled her nose once or twice). What was he doing here again? Why had he let them take him? Right. Because he had been too scared to say no. His only reprieve was that Komaeda was seated against the far wall, apparently working on a poem about hope.

. . . Sometimes, he worried a little about the older teen.

“Alright . . . Now, punch!”

His arm shot out like a piston. Not surprising. His body was working on an all-or-nothing basis right now; either his limbs hardened with fear and locked into place, or jerked into position with adrenaline-fueled motion. Not that Nidai ever noticed how jumpy he was. The Coach laughed loudly, throwing his head back.

“Careful! You do that too hard without hitting anything and you could pull a muscle. Athletes can have their careers ruined by that, you know!”

Nidai’s pointing finger stopped an inch away from his chest. If it had actually made contact . . . well, Naegi wouldn’t have been shocked if his heart would have torn itself out of his body trying to get away. It was already on the verge of hiding in his bowels.

“I’m . . . I’m n-not an athlete,” Naegi forced out.

“Not with that attitude, you aren’t!”

Nidai hit him on the back. Naegi simultaneously jumped and tried to flinch away. Next thing he knew, he was on the ground, with a very befuddled Nidai staring down at him. On the other half of the gym, Owari ceased swinging on the gymnast bars (how could she do that when she seemed to have no muscle left?) and stopped upside down, hanging by only her feet.

“Hey, Old Man! Be careful with him. Kid’s still got bruises everywhere.”

Nidai grinned, waving at her. “You know what they say: NO PAIN, NO GAIN!”

“They also say you shouldn’t work too hard if you’re injured,” Naegi said from his position on his back.

“You were the one that came to us.”

“N-no, I didn’t. I was excising in my room by myself. Owari-san came in and saw me, and dragged me out here to work out with you two.”

“Exactly!”

Naegi scowled. He didn’t think this was a bit of Despair illogicality. Nope, this purely was Ultimate eccentricity. He glanced over at Owari; she was giving him an upside-down thumbs-up.

“Who trained you, anyways?” Nidai asked.

His heart clenched a little. “Oogami Sakura.”

“Oogami . . .” Owari rubbed her chin. “Hey, that was the Ultimate Martial Artist, right?”

“Sure was!” Nidai said, his loud voice drowning out Naegi’s quiet confirmation. “You know, when she first arrived, I thought I might have a chance at taking her on.”

“I haven’t heard this one,” Owari said. She flipped so that she now sat on top of the bar. “What happened?”

Naegi was curious too, although he thought he knew where this was going . . .

“She beat the shit out of me!”

Yep. That’s what he thought.

Owari matched Nidai’s grin. “You must have enjoyed that.”

“How couldn’t I?” Nidai agreed. “I wish I had recorded it. I don’t think the school had ever taken that much damage before or since.”

“You’re not upset you lost?” Naegi asked as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Wasn’t back then.” The Coach rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks heating up a little. “Those were the old days where I thought helping athletes reach their peak was the greatest joy in life. Now I understand that stuff was child’s play! Despair’s the real thing to strive for!”

“Hear, hear!” Owari hooted.

Nidai stomped, raised his arms to the sky, and bellowed.

“ _Grahhhh!_ ”

How . . . there were red lightning bolts shooting out from his eyes. How was that even possible!? Naegi scrambled back as a bolt cracked near him. That wasn’t real lightning, right?

. . . Nidai may have suddenly jumped to the top of his ‘Most Dangerous Despairs list.

“HEY, YOU!” Nidai’s pointing finger was like a cocked gun. “Wipe that look off your face. You can’t let them see your fear like that!”

It reminded him of . . . _before_. He . . . he had to get away! Were those his limbs moving, pulling him backwards? He didn’t know. Nidai loomed over him –

Naegi tripped over Komaeda’s foot.

“Naegi-kun, what’s another word that rhymes with hope?”

For a blessed moment, there was silence.

“Uh, Komaeda?” Nidai said, “I’m trying to teach the kid a life lesson here.”

 Naegi looked up at Komaeda. “Umm, soap?”

“Hmm, _Hope cleanses your soul like soap!_ Maybe I can use that one.”

This was just too surreal.

“Your poem sound like it sucks!” Owari called out from her spot on the bar. Naegi had to agree privately.

But Komaeda brushed it off. “That’s because you don’t understand the beauty of hope. Naegi-kun, you should tell them all about it!”

Nidai held his hands up and took a step back. “Uh, I got to get back to training! Maybe some other time.”

Owari spoke. “Yep. Me too. These bags aren’t going to punch themselves!”

There was nearly two feet between Naegi and Nidai now. The Coach said, “Let’s call it a night, Naegi-kun. You’re pretty scrawny. We got to be careful not to overwork you!”

. . . And the funny thing was, Naegi didn’t even think Komaeda accomplished this on purpose. Not that he was going to turn the opportunity away. He was rather glad to get out of the gym. Komaeda padded after him, pencil behind his ear, focused on his sheet of paper. It was one of the rare times that he wasn’t smiling. Naegi paused, and turned to face the other teen. After that rescue, he felt obliged to ask.

“How’s the poem going?”

“I think it’s going really well!” Komaeda said. His eyes lit up. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Uh . . .”

 Turns out, Komaeda didn’t want to wait for an answer.

. . .

. . . Wow.

Wow.

His ears may have been bleeding. If there was a record for the most use of the word ‘hope’, Komaeda just beat it. Naegi almost felt like he needed to reset his brain so ‘hope’ would have meaning again.

“What do you think?” Komaeda asked.

“It’s very . . . hopeful.”

“Then it’s perfect!” With a neat flick of his wrist, Komaeda pulled the pencil out from behind his ear, and deposited it in his pocket. “I’ll put it up on your Hope Wall.”

. . . Oh god, what was that?

“See, I had this brilliant idea,” Komaeda was saying. “I’m going to cover the ceiling in your room with things full of hope. That way, every morning you can wake up to hope and the last thing you see before you fall asleep is hope! Isn’t it exciting!?”

Naegi had an overwhelming urge to smack his head against a wall.

* * *

“I’m sure you all have some idea of why I called you here. Have you heard the rumours that we will be fighting Ultimate Despair themselves within the next few days?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Those rumours are true. In three days’ time, we will launch an attack on the main headquarters of Ultimate Despair. Several of our divisions will be involved, Second Division included. You six, of course, will be among them. You must suspect, however, that your role is not like the others. Otherwise, I would not have bothered to schedule this meeting with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All of you are veterans. I have chosen you for your bravery, your adaptability, and most importantly, your loyalty. It is the last trait that is most important. The task I am about to assign you is crucial to the future of our cause. If I ask it of you, are you prepared to give up everything?”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Naegi watched Komaeda balance on the top of the ladder. The Luckster was taping his ‘poetry’ right above the spot where Naegi’s pillow laid. Originally, he thought it wouldn’t be too bad because Komaeda’s writing had been small, but Komaeda boy had accounted for that. He had gone ahead and typed his poem up on a computer, then printed it over multiple pages to make sure it was legible from ground level. Which meant that yes, every time Naegi woke up, he was probably going to end up reading that poem.

He was going to be sick of hope by the time he got out of here.

Komaeda placed the final piece of tape. “There! It’s perfect.”

“Fantastic,” Naegi deadpanned.

“So, anything you want to add to your Wall of Hope?” Halfway down, Komaeda hopped off the ladder. When he glanced at Naegi’s desk where a stack of paper lay, his hand twitched as though ready to create another ‘masterpiece’.

Naegi stared up at the ceiling. Every day, he would wake up and see that. He already regretted not pushing Komaeda off the ladder. Terrible, terrible poetry about a warped vision of hope was not what he liked to wake up to. He’d much rather . . .

He’d much rather see . . .

Softy, Naegi said, “Actually, yeah. There is some stuff I’d like to put up there.”

* * *

“What we are about to discuss here cannot leave this room. You are to tell no one, even the other Division leaders. If the Chairman himself asks you, you _must_ deny him. Were this to become common knowledge, our forces may fall before we even see battle. If you cannot handle such responsibility, I will request that you leave now. . . So, I ask you this: can you handle this burden?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I am well aware that since the last broadcast by Tsumiki Mikan, another rumour has been circulating through The Future Foundation. Am I correct in presuming you are also aware of this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell no one else, but that rumour is also true. Naegi has been captured by the Remnants of Despair. However, we have reason to believe he is being held in their main headquarters, and that he is still alive. He is your mission.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“ . . . What are you doing?”

“It’s the Hope Wall!” Komaeda cried, nearly dancing on tiptoes as he held Kamukura’s shoulder and pointed at the ceiling. “I came up with it all by myself.”

“ . . . I can tell,” Kamukura said flatly. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

Komaeda’s shoe scuffed against the floor. He smiled bashfully. “We don’t have a lot of things to put up there, and I don’t have much of a talent for poems. I thought you might –”

“No.”

“But -!”

“No.”

From where he was seated on the floor, Naegi held back a snicker.

“Not even a tiny one?”

“I have pride, Komaeda.”

Komaeda spent about two seconds sulking. Then, his mood reset and he perked up with a sharp jerk. He pranced over to Naegi (because how else could you describe that kind of bubbly walk?), hands locked behind his back as he peered over the younger boy’s back.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Naegi smiled and this time, it was completely genuine. “I did.”

He put the yearbook down, and reached for the pile of torn pages at his side. Every single one of them had a picture of at least one of his friends. He held them close to his chest. They felt warm in his hands, like their souls resided in these pages, whispering to him. He could picture all their faces and smiles.

“Great, I’ll put them up!”

He audibly whined when Komaeda thoughtlessly tore them away (he barely managed to hold onto the one he _didn’t_ want Komaeda to see, and stuffed it in his pocket). Komaeda scampered up the ladder, making it wobble dangerously. Any distress Naegi had when the photos were taken away was quickly mollified by the sight of those pictures going up, radiating in a circle outward from that dreadful poem. They brightened up the entire room, changing it from a borrowed cell to a place that he might actually be able to call his . . .

He shook his head. No. He couldn’t think that way. This wasn’t his home, after all.

Kamukura wandered over and glanced at the photos. “That’s boring.”

Naegi hadn’t expected any different. Kamukura wouldn’t understand.

The longhaired boy suddenly gave Naegi a look. Yep, Naegi had expected that, too. Kamukura already knew he had hid a picture from Komaeda. After checking to make sure Komaeda was busy, he directed Kamukura into the washroom and closed the door behind them.

When he looked back, Kamukura had peeled back the tub’s curtain and was staring at his stolen shoes.

“I don’t let Komaeda-kun use the shower,” Naegi said.

The curtain fell back into place. “What are you hiding from him?”

Naegi opened his mouth.

He shut it again.

He shouldn’t have any problems with showing Kamukura. The older teen was the reason Naegi had preserved this picture after all. But he couldn’t help remember what happened last time he had seen it. And this time, Komaeda wasn’t here to serve as a buffer (not that he thought Komaeda could stop someone as powerful as Kamukura).

“I . . .” He took a deep breath, and swallowed his hesistation. “I wanted to know if you wanted this.”

Gingerly, he took out the photo from his pocket, and flipped it over. He handed it to Kamukura. Kamukura didn’t take it. Instead, he stared silently at the small, purple-haired girl. Naegi could feel the heat of his stare through the paper.

“It seemed to mean something to you, so I thought you might –”

“What did Komaeda tell you?” Kamukura demanded.

“N-nothing. I never brought it up again.”

Kamukura gave him a piercing look, dissecting him as he searched for a lie.

“ . . . We have fifteen seconds before Komaeda notices we are gone.”

Naegi could take a hint. He nodded, put the picture back in his pocket, and walked out of the washroom.

Ten seconds later when Komaeda taped the last photo into place, Naegi was waiting innocently at the bottom of the ladder. When prompted, he told Komaeda he loved it – which he actually did. He wondered whether he would be able to get his hands on photos of his family. Meanwhile, the bedroom door shut in the background as Kamukura made his exit.

“Hmm, I can’t think of a reason we would have any of those lying around,” Komaeda answered when Naegi inquired about them. “But we are both lucky, so there’s a good chance I’ll find one if I look. Give me an hour, and I’ll see what I can find.”

Komaeda walked out the door, leaving Naegi alone with his newly founded Wall of Hope. He drank it in, smiling sadly. After a few minutes, his thoughts turned to the photo in his pocket. He reached for it. He didn’t know what to do with it, but it didn’t seem right to throw it and that girl away –

Huh? Where was it?

He turned his pocket inside out. It was empty.

It wasn’t on the floor. It hadn’t fallen out in the bathroom. And it definitely wasn’t on the ceiling. Where had it . . .?

He crinkled his brow. There had been some time where he wasn’t paying attention, where the photo had been sticking out of his pocket . . .

Had Kamukura taken it after all?

* * *

“Our attack is meant to be nothing more than a distraction. While the eyes of the Remnants are upon us, you must sneak into the building and locate Naegi. I’m afraid I cannot offer much help with that objective. Few of our allies have left that building alive. But you _must_ succeed. Even if half The Future Foundation is wiped out, succeeding in your goal will give us an advantage over Despair.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Despite his foolishness and naiveté, I will acknowledge that Naegi Makoto is very powerful. I don’t believe there is anyone else who can wield words with such strength. The world has declared him to be the saviour of hope. There are many in The Future Foundation who think the same way, and joined our cause for that reason.”

“Yes, sir.”

“. . . And that is why, second to Enoshima Junko, Naegi would be the greatest threat we have ever faced. In our hands, he is a saviour. But you must understand this. If Naegi were to be corrupted by Despair, then he could tear down the rest of this world within a year. It may never recover. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“Komaeda-kun . . . I d-don’t want to see this.”

“It’s no use staying ignorant of what’s happening outside!” Komaeda said. “Wasn’t that frustrating when you were locked up in Hope’s Peak?”

“That’s different! I . . .”

Komaeda tucked the remote into his pocket and shrugged. “Sorry, Naegi-kun, but I really don’t see how.”

The TV was on. It was showing some kind of battle raging in the outside world. Fires were burning, bullets were flying and people . . . people were getting hurt. An itchy, rolling mass pooled in the bottom of his stomach. Sweat gleaned across his forehead.

Komaeda stood just beyond his shoulder, stare fixed and predatory. Whenever Naegi squirmed and tried to turn away from the television, the white-haired boy was right there to grab his head and turn it back. His fingers lingered on Naegi’s neck, putting pressure on the muscle.

“I think that’s Germany,” Komaeda muttered. “The Ultimate Princess did say she wanted to squash some resistance there before dropping by.”

Naegi closed his eyes, trying to pretend none of this was happening. But Komaeda’s bony fingers moved up to his face, slid over his eyes, and pressed deep into the flesh around them. Naegi’s eyelids twitched, but they couldn’t stay closed. The flashing scenes on the television came back just in time to show someone collapse to the ground.

“Look at all that despair, Naegi-kun. Isn’t it awful? To think people could let themselves fall so low . . . But you’d never sink to their level.” Komaeda’s voice was hot air against his cheek. His touch was a ghost running fingers through his hair. “One day, you’ll inject them all with hope. You’ll starve despair and swallow the remains. They’ll be nothing left but light – _your_ light! Hope’s light! The entire world will burn with it!”

“Stop . . .” He trembled, some deep-rooted fear tugging at his voice as Komaeda’s lips brushed over his ear. “Turn it off.”

Each giggle was a nail driven through his skull. “But Naegi-kun, if I do that, you won’t _see_. If you don’t see, then how can your hope flourish?”

And Komaeda gripped his chin so hard it _hurt_.

“Isn’t it horrible, Naegi-kun? It’s unfair, isn’t it? How can something like this not upset someone as hopeful as you? Watching all that pain and misery hurts, I know. But that’s what makes hope stronger. When you wake up and realize that everyone around you is dead, that’s the moment where you choose hope or despair once and for all . . . I know that.”

Komaeda’s breath was heavy on his neck. “Not that I'm going to be that to you. I’ll be gentle. I’ll build you up piece by piece until there’s no more room for despair. You’ll be pure. You’ll be perfect.”

* * *

“Naegi must not fall into despair. He is too dangerous. Recovery is the ideal objective, but if that outcome proves to be impossible, then consider this: we must remove Ultimate Despair’s ability to use him against us.”

“Yes, sir.”

( _On the other side of a building, an orange-haired woman spoke into a phone. “Yes, in three days. Be ready.”_ )

* * *

Komaeda pressed his lips against the top of his head, and it burned like a brand.

“I’ll make you _perfect_.”

* * *

“If you cannot extract Naegi Makoto . . . kill him.”


	20. The Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not happy with this one, but I promised you guys a chapter.
> 
> On another note, Naegi's luck is so much fun. It allows you to do all sorts of crazy things!

Dinner was oddly quiet today. Naegi chewed carefully, aware of an unusual amount of eyes on him. While he was growing used to being the center of attention, this was different. As previously mentioned, it was too quiet, and the staring was anticipatory in nature. They couldn’t be that concerned about his weight, could they?

Naegi finished his last bite and pushed his plate away. By that time, Komaeda had already stood and made his way over.

“Finished?” the white-haired teen asked.

Naegi nodded. He glanced at the others without moving his head.

“Alright. Let’s go then.” Komaeda tugged on his arm. Confused, Naegi let Komaeda take his hand and lead him out of the room.

They weren’t alone. Tsumiki sidled up to his other side, and slid her hand into that one. There were footsteps behind them. He looked; it seemed like almost every member of Ultimate Despair was following them. Just . . . why? What was going on? _What were they planning?!_

They took him back to his room. Good. He would be happy to dive into bed and pull the covers over himself. Komaeda led him into his bedroom (where Kamukura was already waiting), and then gently pushed him onto the bed. The Luckster ended up bent over, so that he and Naegi were at eye-level while the others stood around them in a semicircle. Naegi looked them over and waited for someone to speak.

It was Komaeda who spoke first. “Naegi-kun, I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to stay here today. There’s going to be trouble, and we don’t want you to get caught in the middle of it.”

“. . . Trouble?”

Kuzuryu shrugged. “The Future Foundation’s going to try to shoot the place up.”

Tsumiki’s head whipped around. “Kuzuryu-kun!”

“What?” Kuzuryu held his hands up. “The more he knows, the less likely he is to do something stupid.”

Future Foundation . . . Iwata came from there, didn’t he? They were the good guys. They were the ones fighting against despair.

. . . Tsumiki was right. Kuzuryu shouldn’t have told him.

Komaeda raised a hand to Naegi’s cheek. “You’ll be fine here, Naegi-kun.”

“We’ll stop those guys at the door. The Future Foundation hasn’t ever beaten us!” Nidai raised his fists, as if to bellow.

“So, don’t be scared, okay?” Tsumiki shouldered Komaeda out of the way. “Even if it gets really loud and scary and the building starts shaking, everything’s going to be fine. We’re all fighting for you.”

In the back, Owari scratched her head. “Would they even hurt him?”

“We’re not taking that risk!” Tsumiki snapped. “The Future Foundation can’t be trusted.”

 _You mean you already know what the answer is_ , Naegi thought. He felt strangely detached from all of this, like he was watching from the other side of a glass wall.

“Just hang tight, Naegi-kun!” Komaeda said from his new place on the floor. “Everything will be back to normal tomorrow.”

_. . . Except I won’t be here._

One by one, they left him (Tsumiki laying a kiss on each of his cheeks beforehand). Kamukura, having neither moved nor spoken nor done much of anything while the others were around, stood in the center of the room. Komaeda looked at him questioningly from the open doorway.

“Uh, Kamukura-kun, did you need something?”

Kamukura stared at him.

Komaeda grinned widely. “Right. I’ll stop subjecting you two to my awful presence. Just make sure you lock the door when you leave!”

And the Luckster was gone.

Kamukura’s gaze slid to Naegi. “Do you have a plan?”

“Not really.” Naegi kicked his feet. He looked at a spot on the floor. “I’m kind of planning to wing it.”

“I see.”

Silence. Naegi almost thought about how much the odds were stacked against him, but quickly changed his mind. He couldn’t think like that. If he did, then he was sure to lose. Yes, he just needed to keep thinking positively. Everything was sure to work out! Filled with new confidence, he glanced upwards –

Kamukura was in front of him. He held a pamphlet out to him. Who knew how long he had been waiting there?

“. . . For before,” the older teen said as Naegi carefully took it.

He stared at the cover.

‘ _Future Foundation News Release’_

The date underneath didn’t mean much to him. He had no idea what day it was now, or what day it had been when they had escaped the school. Still, a news release from The Future Foundation? That could only be useful. He peeled it open, letting his eyes skim over the page –

‘ _Hope’s Peak Survivors Recovered.’_

It took him a second to calm down. It took less than a millisecond after to zoom in on the accompanying picture. Was that . . .? Yes! Yes, that was Togami! He was stepping out of a car toward a group of suit-wearing people that must have been from the Future Foundation. When Naegi looked closely, he saw a lock of long hair extruding from the open car door that must have belonged to Kirigiri. They were alive. They were okay! They were safe from the spectre of Despair. And while he was a little surprised that the article didn’t mention they had failed to rescue him, he didn’t care.

He didn’t mind the emotional tear that rolled down his face. “Kamukura-kun, thank you-”

But the other teen was already gone.

Now that he was on his own, the first thing he did was drag some papers and books into the bathroom where he had hidden Kamukura’s shoes. He put them on – either Kamukura had big feet, or he had very small ones – and stuffed them until he could walk around without them threatening to come off. It wasn’t ideal. It would get in the way if he needed to run, but at least he wouldn’t be stopped by the first nail he encountered.

Then, he waited. And he stared at his map and memorized it, and he stared at the door a lot and tried to figure out how to get past it, but he spent a lot of time waiting. The clock by his bedside ticked on, passing six o’clock, seven o’clock, eight o’clock . . . It must have been dark outside by now. Good.

Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard an explosion.

 The second one was clearer. He leapt to his feet. He might not have much time. With people like Komaeda and Tsumiki about, there was no guarantee that one of them wouldn’t change their mind and decide to wait out the battle next to him. He charged forward –

Damn it! He forgot about the locked door.

He jiggled the knob a couple of times, hoping his luck would strike and somehow unlock it. It was for nothing though. To be honest, if his luck really had activated, it would probably be to magically drop an iron curtain to make sure he couldn’t escape. He slammed his foot into the door, growling under his breath.

If he couldn’t unlock it, then he just had to go through it.

The desk was too heavy to use. The chair, too unwieldy and light. He couldn’t believe it. Was this simple door really going to be the thing that stopped him cold? He tried throwing himself into it a few times, but all he accomplished was damaging his shoulder. He held it, glaring at the stupid door. He wasn’t giving up here.

He doubted any of the stuffed animals or little things lying on the shelves would help him. He went under the bed. He weighed the scale in one hand – no, too light – and tossed that aside. A suitcase came next; nothing in it. Then came the severed Monokuma paw. No, that wasn’t heavy enough either. He tossed it –

As the paw rolled across the floor, something within it glinted.

Naegi paused. He picked the paw up again and studied it. With careful fingers, he coaxed the long claws out of their hiding places.

Soda laughed in his mind. _“These things can cut just about anything if you try hard enough.”_

. . . So this was the answer. How ironic that it would be his worst enemy that got him out of here.

Just as Soda had promised, the claws pierced right through the wood. He hacked away, sweat dripping down his temple, teeth clenched. He didn’t need to chop all of it, just the area around where the lock was so that nothing held the door closed. He hacked, and hacked, and hacked, and hacked . . .

Finally, the paw slipped from his slippery hands. The lock was only held in place by a few thin bonds. Naegi took a few moments to catch his breath. Then he straightened up, and kicked.

The door swung open.

Kamukura stared at him from the other side.

“. . . That took you a very long time,” he said.

“Not in the mood,” Naegi said. He jogged past him.

Without the door sealing him in, the sounds of battle were louder. He was far enough away from the site that there was no physical signs of damage, but those were explosions and gunshots he definitely heard in the distance. The lines of his scribbled map flashed in his mind. He knew where he needed to go. Kamukura followed behind – was he keeping up with Naegi just by _walking_? Come on! He wasn’t that short! Kamukura must have been engaging in Ultimate Speed Walking or something.

 “. . . You’re going the wrong way,” Kamukura said. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“No, I’m not.”

Most of the Monokuma robots and soldiers must have been fighting. A few still patrolled the building, but they were loud and easily avoided. The robots especially had trouble spotting him in the darkness. He kept low to the ground, hiding in the shadows. It must have been funny looking considering Kamukura always lurked behind him, watching from his full height.

When Naegi reached his destination, Kamukura almost sounded confused. “Here?”

“Here.”

“They won’t be much help.”

“That’s not the point.” Naegi shoved the door open.

Light from the doorway slowly fell within the prison hallway. Most of the prisoners hadn’t reacted to the door’s opening, but a couple had looked up and now muttered to their neighbours about his arrival. Iwata startled at the first mention of Naegi’s name, and then scrambled as close as he could get to the bars.

Grinning victoriously, Naegi approached him. “Hey.”

“You can’t be here! There’s -!”

“ _Naegi Makoto outside safe zone_.”

He froze.

From the other end of the prison, a piercing red light shone at him. The Monokuma robot shuffled forward, repeating those five words in a monotone. Naegi backed right into an unyielding Kamukura. In a way, the solidness of the longhaired teen was reassuring. Naegi couldn’t give up here. He eyed the weaker points of the robot, wondering if he could hit hard enough . . .

The doorway darkened. Two Monokuma soldiers stood there, staring at him.  It was too fast. The only explanation was that they had been positioned nearby, waiting for the robot’s signal. But why . . . ?

. . . Ah, Komaeda knew him better than he thought.

He was outnumbered. Kamukura moved aside, and the soldiers seized Naegi by the arms and dragged him backwards. He wasn’t all that upset that they had caught him, just that he hadn’t been able to help these prisoners like he had promised. The Monokuma robot waddled back to the end of the hall. Naegi watched its retreating back . . .

“Monokuma,” his words were soft, but clear. “Cut out all of the cells’ locks.”

(Because why would Ultimate Despair have a safeguard against a command none of them would ever give?)

Monokuma teetered sideways, and then swung its entire body with its arm. The claws shrieked against the nearest set of bars, spraying the ground below with a shower of sparks. It was the last thing he saw before the prison door door shut.

He closed his eyes and smiled. At least some good came out of this.

Kamukura still followed, even though it was looking more and more likely that Naegi’s adventure was over. The soldiers dragged him so that his tiptoes skimmed the ground; he couldn’t dig in and try to fight even if he wanted to. Something boomed far away and for the first time, the building shook. A rain of dust fell from above.

“So, how’s the fight going?” Naegi asked one of the soldiers.

“Intruders are being repelled. Ultimate Despair will secure victory.”

Oh. He was a tiny bit disappointed, but not the least bit surprised. He knew for a fact there were a lot of robots here –

_Bang._

His arm was nearly torn out of his socket. The grip on his left arm tightened drastically, then released suddenly. The attached soldier crashed to the ground, someone – two someones – on top of it. Someone grasped the soldier’s helmet and began slamming it against the ground while his fellow lunged at the second soldier . . .

“Naegi, run!” Iwata barked.

He did.

Kamukura followed. He probably known the whole time this would happen. There was no time to check the map; Naegi only had his vague sense of location to go on. But the answer was obvious; he needed to get to the building’s edges. A blaring drone behind him told him at least one of the soldiers had recovered to chase him. He huffed and puffed, body already feeling the stress of the situation.

He ran right into a second group.

In the little time it took them to recognize him and lower their guns, he ran past them. The first soldier actually tackled one trying to get to him. But the rest were taking up the chase, calling to him, warning him that he was approaching a red zone.

Yes! He was close! He crossed into the aforementioned red zone . . .

It was a hallway and a blank wall.

This was a red zone? How? There were no entrances there. For a moment, he doubted. For a moment, his pace faltered.

It was his first mistake, but it was also his last one.

A line of fire struck across his temple when he hit the ground. Hot, coppery blood oozed from his reopened wound. The soldiers lay heavy on his back, crushing his ribs, nails digging into his arms.

Kamukura looked down at him. “You’ve failed. Predictable.”

If even Kamukura was saying that, then it must have been over.

“Naegi Makoto secured. Returning to safe zone.” They pulled him to his feet, not caring that he was nearly blind in one eye from the blood. He didn’t struggle. Kamukura scoffed and started to turn.

He suddenly dove sideways.

_Bang._

His ears rang with the gunshot. Then, there was more. Naegi was thrown aside, face smacking into the wall. On it, he could see the shadows of the soldiers falling as the flurry of shots grew louder –

Before he could make sense of it, something was thrown over his head.

Strong hands seized the back of his hoodie, like an animal grabbing its young by the scruff. Hard shoulder bone pressed against him as he was lifted, but who? What? It felt like Nidai, but Nidai was supposed to be fighting!

“Stop struggling!” a strange voice hissed. “We’re here to rescue you.”

“Is the bag necessary?” another person said. “If they recognize him, he’ll make a good shield.”

“If they recognize him, then for sure they’ll pursue us.”

A walkie talkie crackled. They were saying something about a bomb? And the stranger was carrying him somewhere. He didn’t know where they were going. He didn’t know where Kamukura had gone. He didn’t even know who these people were, but he suspected. . .

“Are you from the Future Foundation?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Naegi mouthed that one word answer to himself, and then a joy so radiant that he had to grin took over his body. He’d won. Ultimate Despair had failed! He was on his way out of here and soon, he was going to see his friends again-!

Just then, he remembered. “Wait, there are some of your friends here! Iwata Torio, and . . . and I don’t know if Nido-san was part of the Future Foundation or not, but we have to go help them!”

“We’re here to get you out,” the stranger said.

“You can’t just leave them here!” Naegi exclaimed. “They need help, too!”

“Keep your voice down!”

“Iwata-kun sacrificed his chance to help me, and I can’t leave him there –”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

The gun – he could tell it was a gun – cracked against the back of his skull. An eerie silence followed. Naegi tried to touch the spot to see if he was breathing, but the bag stood in his way.

“Keep quiet,” the stranger hissed.

Naegi tried to touch the spot again, dazed. This was the Future Foundation. They were rescuing him. He didn’t need to be scared.

(He was scared. He could sense something wrong with their intentions)

“Shit, those shadows . . .! They must have heard us!”

“Let’s go!”

Now, they were running. He still had no idea what was going on, where they were going . . . That was a gunshot. Those were gunshots. He could hear them, and the robotic voices of the Monokuma soldiers speaking into their helmets and coordinating actions.

“They know we have him. Even if we get outside, we’re not going to make it.”

“So be it . . . That’s the room, quick! Barricade the door!”

They ran more and then suddenly, Naegi was thrown to the ground. He rolled onto his back, trying to sit up as he grabbed at the bag –

A foot slammed onto his chest and pinned him to the ground.

 A gun clicked.

 “Wh-what’s going on?” Naegi tried to crawl backwards, but that foot sat firmly on his chest.

“Forgive us, Naegi Makoto . . . For the sake of hope, you must die.”

The door suddenly slammed open.

The stranger’s gun went off.

The bullet tore through wood, spraying Naegi’s exposed neck with sharp silvers. Gunpowder trickled onto his skin, and stained the air with its scent. Smoke rose from the barrel in tiny curls, disappearing completely from the small gust that accompanied the gun’s fall to the floor.

And Naegi didn’t die.

A crash. The wall shock with the force that the body hit it with. The second Future Foundation member shouted, and more shots went off. But these were not followed by the sound of tearing flesh, just rapid footsteps as a figure weaved and dodged –

The other shooter slammed into the wall. Their skull was smashed against the wall once, and then the body dropped to the ground –

Just as Naegi tore the bag off his head. Right next to where it had lain, there was a bullet hole in the ground. He could see the fallen forms of the Future Foundation member, but there was no sign of who had saved him. Just Monokuma soldiers pouring through the open door.

There was a step behind him.

“ . . . They said the same thing.”

Naegi turned his head. “Kamukura-kun?”

Kamukura did not look at him. He stared straight ahead at the man who had tried to fire that killing shot. “They made the same claim. To me. To her. They claimed to be saving hope . . . instead, they murdered it.”

Before Naegi could ask or Kamukura could elaborate, the Monokuma soldiers zeroed in on him. Kamukura stepped aside to let things take their natural course –

The hand attached to one of the two fallen outsiders suddenly reached inside a jacket -

Kamukura turned toward one of the walls and Naegi thought his eyes widened a tiny bit –

“ _Explosive! Protect Despairs!_ ”

The world exploded.

* * *

Naegi jerked into wakefulness. The air was grey. His back ached and when he moved, several things dug into his flesh. He groaned; his first attempt at speech lapsed into coughing. Legs rubbery and unwilling to stand, he rolled over.

A Monokuma soldier stared right at him.

But the soldier wasn’t conscious. The red lights that illuminated the helmet’s eyes were dull. A crack lay down the center of the helmet. What . . .?

He looked around. Rubble lay all around him. People lay around him, unconscious. But apart from the obvious, something was wrong with what he was seeing. The world was too dull; his field of vision, too small.

It was his eye. One of his eyes weren’t opening. He rubbed at it until the layer of dried blood gluing it shut broke. Then, that one opened widely too so that he could take in the world. He could only conclude that somebody that a bomb or missile had hit this wall. The outside wall had caved and –

It had caved.

Naegi stared at the dark, dirty outside world.

It was beautiful.

“I suppose you are an Ultimate Lucky Student,” Kamukura said. He was sitting on a large piece of rubble, uninjured.

Naegi laughed. “I never said I wasn’t.”

He stumbled outward into the sweet, sweet air.


	21. The Outside

Naegi wanted to cry. There was a slight dampness outside, but he didn’t care. The artificial ground under his feet radiated an aura of cool and freshness, and he wanted to rest a while with his cheek against it. For now though, he could satisfy himself with the caress of the wind on his face. He looked up in silent thanks. Stars – he could see _stars_. Giggles swelled in his throat, bursting out like hiccups.

The battle was still raging, but he couldn’t see any nearby fighting, and assumed the Future Foundation had been pushed back. But that no longer mattered. He pointed his feet in the opposite direction of the fight, and walked onward. He just needed to get to the city. He just needed to get away. Then, it would be over.

To him, his footsteps sounded like gunshots, but nobody came running. This time, Naegi was alone. Even Kamukura had made no move to follow him outside. So, he trudged onward, unable to feel pain or exhaustion, only the promise of what lay ahead. At one point, he saw a few mosquitoes on his skin and he laughed and laughed because wow, he was _outside_. They could take his blood. He had plenty to spare! Bats, too, zipped through the night and to Naegi, they were an omen urging him to take his freedom. He was so, so close . . .

He touched the first piece of rubble belonging to the city, and fell to his knees and laughed.

He wiped tears from his eyes. He’d made it. Despair had lost.

His steps echoed. He wasn’t surprised that the first street he walked through was lifeless. Not even the mosquitos seemed to have followed him. The residents must have fled long, long ago when Ultimate Despair first established their base. The surrounding buildings had been gutted by fire and sagged into themselves. He couldn’t see a single intact window. Nothing stood higher than a story; anything above that had been destroyed.

He supposed the first stage of his post-escape plans should be to get as far away as possible. He was a on a timer: once the Future Foundation’s attack was fully repelled, Ultimate Despair would no doubt check on him; once they realized he was gone, they’d no doubt look for him. He probably couldn’t outrun people like Nidai or Pekoyama, so he’d have to find a good place to hole up for a night or two.

Hmm . . . maybe he should have brought food.

He hadn’t been walking that long when the city surprised him. Down the street from him, a figure had stepped out. Judging how it strode to the other side without falter, whoever it was hadn’t seen him. Naegi went still, watching. Who could possibly exist so close to Ultimate Despair? Maybe one of the prisoners he freed earlier had gotten out.

The figure turned its head as it stepped into a beam of moonlight, and the beam reflected off goggles and short blond hair . . .

No.

It wasn’t.

Yes . . . Yes, it _was_!

His mind didn’t even finish that thought before he was running toward the teen.

“ _Togami-kun_!”

Togami had not expected to see Naegi here. That much was obvious. Upon hearing his name, the Heir had dropped into a sort of crouch, body ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. He didn’t lose that stance even as he saw just who was running towards him, but Naegi felt the dangerous aura surrounding him fall away.

When they drew close enough for Togami to verify it was really him, the blond straightened up. “Naegi Makoto?”

Naegi nodded vigorously, still running. It sucked that Togami didn’t like hugs, because Naegi wanted to throw himself at the heir and squeeze him until he turned blue –

Oh, hey. Just when did he decide to act on that fantasy?

“Wh-what? What do you think you’re doing?” True to form, Togami was spluttering in shock and shoving at his head. It was so _Togami_ of him, Naegi just had to stand there and let the hits land.

“I’m sorry, Togami-kun. I’m just so glad to see you!”

And he was. Togami seemed to glow in the moonlight like a god descended upon earth. He stood tall and proud as always and to Naegi, that was perfect. Memories of the Heir’s smug sneers and biting remarks flashed before him, but Naegi could no longer see them as mean, only as a promise of protection and strength. He had found Togami. He was safe. All was right in the world again.

Togami finally managed to pry Naegi off him. “You . . . you’re not supposed to be here. Naegi, are you alone?”

Naegi nodded vigorously. He didn’t speak because if he did, he knew he would start babbling about his escape and the hopes he clung to while imprisoned, and Togami would probably get mad at him for being annoying.

“Nobody followed you?”

“I don’t think so,” Naegi said. “Kamukura-kun might have, but I don’t think he’ll do anything. Where are the others?”

“ . . . They’re not here.”

He almost asked why Togami was, but Togami would probably see that as Naegi questioning his prowess, so he didn’t. He just basked in the fact that he was in the presence of the Heir.

Wow, was this how Fukawa felt on a daily basis?

 “We need to get somewhere safe,” Togami said. “I’ll call somebody to pick us up when the fighting is over. Naegi, come.”

Naegi dropped into step behind the heir, relishing the familiarity of that command. They passed in and out of shadows and each time, the light fell on Togami’s face differently. When Naegi put the snapshots together, he was able to form a good picture of what Togami currently looked like. And it wasn’t good. He was skinny. Much too skinny. Togami . . . resembled Owari. Skin hung off his thin frame, and his bones stuck out too much.

Naegi didn’t want to think about what the others looked like.

When Naegi asked about the goggles, the Heir glanced at him and gruffly answered, “These are night-vision goggles.”

Oh. That was pretty smart. Togami had always been smart.

They stopped in a sheltered alcove. Togami immediately sought out a half-charred bench and sat down. His foot tapped impatiently as he stared at the only entrance and spoke to someone on his phone. Naegi went ahead and sat on the ground next to him. He didn’t mind. After all, he’d once slept in a garbage dump.

“What were you doing here?” Naegi asked.

“I was asked to help,” Togami said.

Naegi nodded. He stared at Togami’s pants (the closest part of the Heir to eye-level) with a sort of fascination. What would it be like to touch it, to rub it between his fingers, to feel the heat left by an living, non-despair tainted being . . . ? Was this how Komaeda felt when he got touchy-feely? Naegi now understood those whims a lot better. That said, he held himself back. Togami hated being touched, maybe even more than Kirigiri. He’d wait for his reunion with Asahina to get all that out of the way.

“How are they?” he asked carefully.

Equally careful, Togami said, “They are alive.”

That answer could mean so many things. It was a bit puzzling that Togami would be so vague with him, but he shoved his worry aside. They were fine. Maybe they, too, were a bit skinny, but he was sure they were all okay. He’d see them soon and prove that in person!

Togami wasn’t up for much conversation, so Naegi mostly let him be and satisfied his cravings by staring at the Heir. A small part of him was worried that if he looked away, Togami would disappear. Togami ignored his staring, although every once in a while, he shifted and sighed in a way that made Naegi know he should stop.

He didn’t.

Even when somebody else approached, Naegi was reluctant to look away. The only reason he did so was because he hoped against reason that it might be another one of his classmates –

Those eyes were _red_.

. . . His heart started back up again. False alarm. He wasn’t caught yet. Kamukura didn’t care if he escaped, after all.

“Kamukura-kun?” he prompted. Had the other boy come to say goodbye or something?

Kamukura didn’t even look at Togami. His gaze was fully fixed on Naegi while his hair seemed to float around him.

“Naegi Makoto . . . Is this an example of your bad luck, or Komaeda’s good luck?”

Naegi stared. What? What part of this could qualify as bad luck?

“ _Makoto_!”

His pupils shrunk into pinpricks.

No.

Please no.

Kamukura stepped aside and in his wake, came the Ultimate Nurse and her banner of long hair. She pounced on Makoto, tripping halfway so that she toppled into his lap and knocked him over. His head hit the pavement. He laid there.

 _Please_ . . . _Why is this happening to me?_

“Makoto . . .” Tsumiki nuzzled his neck. She seemed unconcerned about how her legs intertwined with his. “I was so worried about you.”

He closed his eyes, and savoured his last breath of freedom.

“The kid’s okay!” Nidai stood in the alcove’s entrance now. “I thought I was going to have to rip some heads off.”

That’s when he remembered:

Togami.

Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Tsumiki, keeping her down. She seemed to think it was affectionate and sighed contently even as Naegi screamed, “Togami-kun, _run_!” He didn’t know where the Heir would go or how he would get past Nidai, but he had to try –

Togami looked down at him. “What?”

“Hmm? Was there someone chasing you two or something?” Nidai asked, looking around.

Togami said, “I have no idea why he’s acting like this.”

“ . . . Togami-kun?” Naegi squeaked.

Togami uncrossed his legs and stood. His words were directed to Nidai. “You need to keep a better eye on him. I have better things to do with my time than babysit.”

Nidai chuckled. “Sorry about that. Here, let’s get you up.”

Nidai helped Tsumiki to her feet. Naegi rolled over to better stare at Togami. The Heir looked so unconcerned . . . he must have been pretending! Togami had a plan. He was just waiting. He must be.

Nidai hooked Naegi under the arms, and lifted him like a child. Even though he was only against the other’s chest, his feet still dangled above the ground. Tsumiki hummed to herself and started fixing his hair.

“Of all the places he could have run off to, he happened to come across you. . . I really am lucky!”

Komaeda had entered the scene, and that’s when Naegi knew his fate was sealed.

“Yeah, I was worried he’d run into the Future Foundation’s traps or something,” Nidai said. “That could have been a disaster.”

Nidai passed him off into Komaeda’s open arms like he was a puppy. And he did it right in front of Togami, and Togami was only _watching_. Why? What could he be waiting for?

“Togami-kun!” Naegi struggled, trying to wriggle his way out of Komaeda’s lazy, but tight hug and reach his friend. “Togami-kun, they’re _Despair_ –”

“Obviously.” Togami crossed his arms and stared at him, unimpressed.

Naegi stilled. He didn’t understand.

“They’re . . . they’re part of Ultimate Despair.”

“Of course.”

“Togami-kun . . .”

“I am, too.”

And with those three words, the scales of Naegi’s world shifted.

“Togami-kun, you . . . you . . .”

_You traitor._

He lunged, reaching for the Heir. His hands struck empty air; Komaeda’s arm had locked around his neck, holding him back. His screams came out as splutters. And Togami merely stood there. Cold. Unremorseful. Naegi wanted to grab his fancy shirt and shout in his face because how could he _?_ _How could Togami_ _do this to him_? He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to shake Togami and see some actual emotion.

“Why?” His tears didn’t fall yet, but they were dangerously close. “Why are you doing this?”

_Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me what I can do to fix this. Tell me why you hate me so much._

“I did nothing to him,” Togami lied. “What is he prattling about?”

“Naegi-kun?” With his free hand, Komaeda was trying to run his fingers through his hair and calm him.

“He’s lying!” Naegi screamed. “He’s not supposed to be . . . he’s not one of you . . .”

He could say no more. He was straining against Komaeda’s arm, choking himself out. His legs quivered like jelly, slowly failing. Togami had betrayed him. After everything they’d been through, he’d turned out to be exactly like the heartless person Asahina had always claimed he was.

“Ah, that’s why!” Komaeda laughed, flinching a little from his bruised ribs. “Naegi-kun’s mistook him for the other one. He’s just confused.”

The other two made a noise of understanding. Kamukura sighed and walked off, probably unimpressed by what he perceived as their slowness.

“It’s okay, Makoto,” Tsumiki said, dragging out his name in a singsong fashion. “You’re safe now.”

_I was safe. I was free._

“If there’s nothing else that needs immediate discussion, then I have no intention of remaining in this filthy place.” Togami was already walking away, expecting his implied orders to be obeyed.

Nidai crouched and looked straight at Naegi. “The kid looks pretty tuckered out. You want me to give him a piggyback?”

_Togami, I . . ._

Komaeda said, “Amazing, Nidai-san! For sure, that’s an idea worthy of an Ultimate. I don’t think Naegi-kun’s ever been through so much excitement before.”

“He seems okay, but I want to give him a full evaluation when we get home,” Tsumiki demanded. Komaeda agreed amicably.

_Please, just tell me why. . ._

Tsumiki and Komaeda helped him onto Nidai’s back. The Coach didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the added weight. They started on the short journey back to his prison, Togami leading the way. Komaeda trailed behind the group, looking at the battered city with an emotion that could be described as curious. Tsumiki walked behind Naegi and his steed. She smiled every time she caught his eye, seemingly oblivious to the dull expression on his face.

_Togami, I . . ._

“I’m glad we found you so quickly, Makoto,” Tsumiki said.

_I . . ._

_I hate you_.

* * *

With the exception of the Yakuza and his bodyguard, the rest of Ultimate Despair were waiting outside his room when they arrived. The small, mumbling throng broke apart when they saw him. Soda and Owari in particular seemed delighted, and they ran up to meet Naegi and his entourage.

“Hey, you’re okay!” Soda cried out. “You had us real worried for a while there.”

Naegi was silent, neither in the mood to talk nor dig his grave deeper. There was one odd thing he noticed, however. Not one person had commented so far on how he had tried to escape. They were all acting as if he got lost or something.

“I honestly thought you blew up with everything,” Owari said.

That was a very weird thing to say. The building hadn’t looked that damaged when he was dragged in . . . Hold on. That smell . . .? Was that smoke? Now that he looked, he noticed Hanamura was holding a fire extinguisher. Soda was too, actually. Plus, both he and Owari were smeared with soot.

“How bad is the damage?” Nidai asked.

Owari made a pained sound. “We’re not going to be able to save much.”

And Naegi knew without even looking.

He dropped from Nidai’s back. Without speaking, he slipped between Soda and Owari and stared into what remained of his room. And the answer to that was ashes. The floor, the walls, even parts of the ceiling were scorched black. Little wisps of paper, charred around the edges, lay against the wall. The back half of the bed had been eaten away, and it looked like some force had sheared his pillow in half. That same force had smashed up his cabinets and all the little things he had on it. They lay in small, unrecognizable pieces, most completely devoid of color. Even the bathroom hadn’t escaped; the door was caved in, and he could see signs of damage within.

He was almost able to convince himself he didn’t care. But then a piece of ash fell from the ceiling and Naegi looked up and remembered what he had lost. He walked into the center of his destroyed room, staring upward, trying to see if anything could be recognized in the strips of pictures that remained.

“A few of them snuck past us while we were fighting, but we never thought they’d go this far,” Nidai said quietly, almost regretfully. “We didn’t think they’d try to kill you.”

Naegi stared at his feet. He’d left footprints behind him in the ash.

Tsumiki stepped forward timidly. “Makoto?”

He stared. This room had been his prison. From the moment he’d woken up here, this room had been the symbol of his oppression. He’d hated it. He’d hated waking up to these walls and knowing he would continue to do so for the near future. But this room had also been _his_. He’d lived here. He’d been safe here. All the toys and decorations lying around had been his. In a way, it had been home. And now it was gone.

“They even got the closet next door,” he heard Komaeda say. “Guess I’m homeless again.”

“Makoto.” Tsumiki was right behind him. Her hand rested on his shoulder.

“It’s all gone,” he said.

Naegi turned slowly. Past Tsumiki’s concerned face, he saw Togami scanning the room.

“. . . I’ve lost everything.”

She frowned in sympathy. “Makoto, you . . . it’s not all gone. You still have us. You have me.”

“Do I?” he whispered..

She tiptoed forward. Slender arms wound around him, holding him gently as soft lips brushed his forehead.

“I’m here, sweetie. Mikan’s here.”

Naegi stared blankly ahead, barely registering Togami as he moved aside for Kamukura.

He closed his eyes and leaned into the hug.

Who knew how long he stayed like that? Tsumiki didn’t seem to be in any mind to end the hug, and he could barely muster up the will to keep breathing. For whatever reason, nobody else seemed keen to interrupt them either. Not until steps echoed down the hall, and one of Ultimate Despair’s two missing members arrived on the scene.

“Hey!” Kuzuryu said. “I need one of those Monokuma helmets.”

“The interrogation isn’t going well?” Komaeda asked.

Naegi heard the Yakuza’s suit rustle as he shrugged. “Peko roughed them up, but they’re still not talking. No big deal. We could always get what we want given enough time, but I thought some mental stuff would be a nice change. Regular torture gets boring if you do it too often.”

Against him, Tsumiki stiffened up.

“I want Makoto to be there!” she demanded. “I want them to tell him directly why they tried to . . .” (She breathed heavily with supressed rage) “Why they bombed his room!”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Kuzuryu said.

The hug ended there. Soda left to go find a spare helmet. Tsumiki gently led him out of the room, nudging him forward like a dog leading her puppy. Kuzuryu waited for them, striking an arrogant pose with his chin raised and chest thrust out.

“Naegi-kun!” Komaeda bounced forward. “Don’t worry about your room. Just think about what the next one will be like! It’ll be bigger, better . . . just think about that and your hope will shine!”

“We need to talk about that,” Kuzuryu said. “Obviously, we’re going to have to up our security, but now that the Future Foundation’s sending strike teams after him, I don’t think Naegi should be sleeping alone.”

“Gotta agree with that,” Owari said. She pinched Naegi’s bicep. “I don’t think he could fight off a crippled assassin wielding a cane.”

“He can keep staying with me,” Komaeda said. “That arrangement worked really well.”

“Yeah, except you don’t have a room anymore,” Kuzuryu said.

Komaeda blinked. It was as if that fact had dawned on him for the very first time.

“He can stay with me!” Tsumiki exclaimed, her chest pressing against his back as the hug started all over again. “I don’t mind at all. I’ll sleep on the floor!”

“I’m sure we got an extra bed we can drag in there,” Nidai said. “No need to go getting back cramps.”

“Not even for despair?”

“. . . Well, in that case!”

But then Naegi pulled away from Tsumiki. She stood there, arms still raised and held out as if she were holding him. She must have assumed she had won this argument, and had never expected Naegi himself to disagree.

“Am I allowed to choose?” Naegi asked. “I’d . . . I’m sorry Mikan, but I’d rather not stay with you.”

For a moment, she looked like she might cry. But then she giggled and Naegi saw despair-swirls in her eyes.

“I don’t blame you,” Nidai said. “Don’t take it personally Mikan, but you’re not exactly class bodyguard material. The best bodyguards are the ones who train and maintain top physical condition so that they –”

“It’s not you or Owari, either,” Naegi said.

That shut him up. He didn’t seem to know where to go from there. None of them really did. They watched Naegi with curiosity and confusion, waiting for his answer. Naegi stepped forward and turned on his heel, stopping when he faced the person who bore the name his mind whispered to him.

“I want to stay with Kamukura Izuru.”

. . . Okay, so he’d gotten a little carried away. He definitely didn’t have to lob an accusing finger at Kamukura as if he was in another Class Trial. Still, it had the intended effect. He was treated to several dramatic reactions from the rest of the cast. And of course, no reaction at all from Kamukura. The longhaired teen just stared past Naegi’s outstretched arm, making him feel very awkward indeed.

“ . . . Why?” Kamukura asked.

“Because . . .” Naegi’s arm lowered a little. “Because I want to!”

_Because you are not Ultimate Despair and I can trust you._

Kamukura stared at him.

“. . . You really are into self-flagellation,” was all Kamukura said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the end of escape attempt #1. To all those people questioning whether Naegi could get away for even a day... you all know me too well!


	22. The Yakuza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up. Kuzuryu decided he wanted to show off for Naegi so this chapter's violent and graphic. Also, there's mild sexual content. Why? Because classic Despair!Tsumiki decided to make an appearance. This is probably the most graphic it will get, but this chapter's important for future things down the road.
> 
> Welcome to arc three and your weekly reminder that the Remnants of Despair are not the good guys.

The light turned on. Immediately, Pekoyama and her bloody sword came into sharp focus. She moved robotically, the tip of her sword dragging as he took her proper place by Kuzuryu’s side. Behind her, she had left three captives, each cuffed and chained to the ground. Kuzuryu watched them, an almost curious tilt to his head over his intertwined fingers. The Yakuza was seated at a fancy wooden desk that seemed too big for him. Pekoyama bowed her head in respect to her master, and then seemed to fade into the background.

Kuzuryu idly examined his shirt. “It’s not going to be fun trying to get blood out of these clothes. Lucky for you bastards, I’m a pretty accommodating guy, so I’m willing to overlook that inconvenience.”

The three captives said nothing. Their hate-filled glares spelt out enough.

Kuzuryu chuckled, and then leaned forward across the desk. “But, nobody cares about my problems right now. We’re here to talk about you guys. Look, we already know you’re from the Future Foundation. We know you wanted to kill Naegi Makoto. So you see, we got everything we need to know. Everything else we’re asking is just out of curiosity. Are you guys really willing to go through all this just for some answers that aren’t going to make a difference? ”

Again, there was no answer. But Kuzuryu seemed to have expected that, for his smirk only grew. He snapped his fingers, and the room’s single door opened. Soda entered, a Monokuma helmet tucked under each arm. Kuzuryu patted the desk, and Soda placed one of the two helmets there.

“The middle one,” the Yakuza said. “Let’s see what she has to say.”

With chains wrapped around her limbs and neck, the captive couldn’t do much to resist. Soda easily slammed the helmet upon her head. There was a sharp sound, like a spark, and then the twin, red eyes of the bear’s face lit up.

“So, Person I Don’t Give a Shit About, what was your mission?”

“Our primary objective was to retrieve Naegi Makoto and return him to the Future Foundation,” the woman said at once. Her two partners stared at her in shock, eyes widening when she continued. “However, if our mission was to fail, then we were to eliminate him to prevent his exploitation by Ultimate Despair.”

Kuzuryu leaned back and let those words hang for a moment.

“You see?” he said afterwards. “It doesn’t matter how stubborn you are. We can get all the information we need. The only reason I’m offering you guys a choice is because I’m in a generous mood. So what’ll it be: cooperate, or not?”

The two remaining captives looked at each other. They didn’t agree, but they didn’t disagree either.

“Good choice. Peko?”

Pekoyama marched forward, and yanked the helmet off the woman’s head. As her consciousness returned to herself, she jolted violently, skin paling.

As Pekoyama placed the second helmet next to the first on the desk, Kuzuryu began to speak. “You bastards are lucky I haven’t ordered her to gut you. See, what your friend said back there? It rubs me the wrong way. Maybe you just haven’t seen a dictionary in a while, but _returning_ something implies that you owned it in the first place. Let’s get this straight. He’s not yours. The Future Foundation has never, and will never own him. So keep all this bullshit about us _stealing_ him to yourselves, or I’m going to get angry.”

That seemed to strike a chord. The captive on the right stirred, chin rising. “Ultimate Despair does–”

The sound of the gunshot echoed through the room.

Teeth clenched together to keep himself from screaming, the captive fell silent. Blood poured from a long gash on the side of his head. The bullet had passed close enough to hurt, close enough to _burn_ , but not enough to kill.

Kuzuryu set his previously concealed gun on the desk. “We should probably stop talking behind the kid’s back. Peko, bring in the guest of honour.”

Pekoyama walked out of the room. She was only gone a few seconds. When she returned, the small, brown-haired figure of Naegi Makoto shuffled behind her. Komaeda and Tsumiki, both of them holding him by the upper arm, flanked him on either side. If one were not aware of the strange relationship between them, it would have been easy to assume Naegi was in the exact same position as the three captives.

At Kuzuryu’s nod, Pekoyama retreated to the back of the room and grabbed a chair. She placed it right behind Naegi, holding it still as Komaeda pushed him into it. He then took Pekoyama’s place behind Naegi. Tsumiki remained by his side.

“Wh-what’s going on?” Naegi asked. “What are you doing to them?”

Nobody answered him.

“Naegi.” Kuzuryu’s grin would not be misplaced on an evil clown. “Welcome to the show. You ever seen these bastards before?”

“N-no,” Naegi stuttered, rigid as he tried to make sense of the chains, the captives, and the blood-soaked floor. He couldn’t tell how much of it was fresh. So much blood had spilt here that it had permanently dyed the wood.

“No? Any reason these guys might have a grudge against you?” When Naegi shook his head, Kuzuryu turned to the captives. “So you tried to kill a kid who you never met before. That’s fucking cold.”

Rage etched itself onto two of the captive’s faces. The woman spoke up, nearly spitting. “You’re one to talk.”

Kuzuryu cocked his gun.

Something was screaming in his head. Naegi immediately tried to stand and rush between the captives and the gun, but Komaeda had hold of his shoulders and wasn’t letting go. Still, he tried, legs twitching as if in the process of running.

The woman hesitated, but then she visibly swallowed and directed her next words straight at Naegi. “They’re monsters. They don’t know mercy.  They-”

Pekoyama was incredibly fast. In another situation, Naegi would have been impressed. But here, something could only tighten in his gut as she closed the distance and brought her weapon down on the woman’s back. It was not her sword Pekoyama wielded this time, but a cat o’ nine and they could _hear_ the skin on the woman’s back splitting.

The woman spoke no more. She breathed heavily, sobs clearly hidden behind her gasps. Naegi stared at her. His hands shook. Did he really smell her blood from here, or was that his imagination?

Kuzuryu only frowned. “Peko, I don’t think she felt the full effect. Take care of that.”

Pekoyama reached down and tore the back of the woman’s shirt down the center, exposing bruised, bloody skin to the world, and to another sharp lash of the cat o’ nine.

“ _Stop_!” Naegi cried. The squelch of the cat o’ nine striking through blood echoed in his mind. “Don’t hurt her anymore! I . . . I don’t want this! I forgive them! I don’t care they were trying to kill me. I’m not mad, so please stop. _Just stop_!”

Kuzuryu gave him an indecipherable look.

“We can’t let them go around trying to assassinate people. We let these ones go, next thing you know, the whole place is swarming with Future Foundation goons. Someone’s got to make an example of them,” the Yakuza said.

“No, you don’t!” Naegi said. There was a mass of words bubbling up his throat, all tumbling and tripping over themselves. “There’s no point. The Future Foundation isn’t seeing this, so you’re not even making an example of them. It’s just . . . it’s plain torture!”

But all Kuzuryu did was laugh.

“We’re sending them the bodies, Naegi. They’ll figure out enough.” Still, Kuzuryu waved Pekoyama back to his side.

There were drops of blood on her face.

The grisly duo of Pekoyama and her Master had captured his attention. He didn’t even remember Tsumiki was there until she leaned down and whispered into his ear.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, Makoto,” the Nurse said. “We all know how you feel.”

He had to force himself to look away. “Then why are you letting this happen?”

Tsumiki was smiling at him, and Naegi started to sweat because that was the wrong expression if she had meant what she said.

“It’s perfectly natural, Makoto,” she mumbled, a strange flush on her cheeks and cadence to her voice. “We all feel it. I know I do.”

“Let’s move on,” Kuzuryu was saying. “Why don’t you tell us exactly who in the Future Foundation sent you? We’re dying to know.”

Even now, the captives did not wish to speak. Kuzuryu sighed in irritation, and then pointed Pekoyama forward. She didn’t carry the cat o’ nine this time, but what looked like a pair of pliers. The Swordswoman grabbed the hand of the captive on the left, and locked the tool onto the center fingernail.

Though they could clearly hear him try, the man couldn’t hold back his scream.

Tsumiki cackled right next to him. “You feel it don’t you, Makoto? All those wonderful feelings. . .”

His stomach lurched. Acid coated the back of his throat.

“K-Kyosuke,” the man said. “Munakata Kyosuke.”

“And just who is that?” Kuzuryu asked.

“He’s . . . the second-in-command in The Future Foundation.”

“You hear that, Naegi? The top brass themselves are trying to kill you!”

His stomach felt like it was filled with lead. He didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t play Kuzuryu’s game. He couldn’t blame them. Maybe they thought he was like Togami.

A finger traced the contour of his thigh, and he jumped so violently he smashed his head against the back of the chair. Panting, skin sleek with sweat, he turned terrified eyes to Tsumiki.

“Mikan, what are you doing?”

Tsumiki smiled at him lovingly. “You don’t need to hide it. I know what you feel down there.”

Her hand rested on his inner thigh. It inched _closer,_ sending signals straight to the pain centre of his brain. Behind him, Komaeda turned his attention to Tsumiki, watching her like a dog would watch a bear.

“I’m a nurse,” Tsumiki murmured. “I learned all about it. You don’t need to be shy.”

The back of her hand dragged across the front of his jeans. It was so, so cold.

“I can help you. I’m feeling the same way, too.”

Her hand flipped over, and _cupped_ –

He puked.

His reaction stopped Kuzuryu cold in the middle of a rant. Tsumiki reeled back sharply even as Komaeda dove forward to grab his shoulder and ask if he was okay. He wanted to burst out laughing because no, _he_ _was not okay! How could any of this be okay?!_ But when he opened his mouth, all he did was throw up again.

“Naegi-kun, did you eat something funny earlier?” Soda asked.

Tsumiki shushed the Mechanic, and helped Naegi to his feet. He leaned against her, unable, unwilling to stand on his own. Komaeda was right there next to him, rubbing circles into his back. The three captives watched him; he couldn’t tell if that was pity he saw, or disgust.

“Get him cleaned up,” Kuzuryu commanded. “Bring him back afterwards. We’re not finished here.”

Tsumiki and Komaeda dragged him into the next room. The Nurse set to examining him, peering at him through narrowed eyes as if they had magnifying glasses built in. Naegi stood there, using Komaeda as a crutch. The world slowly spun around him. He wondered if he had anything left to throw up.

“He’s very pale and sweaty,” Tsumiki said, “but his temperature is okay. I think he’s just suffering from stress. We should get him new shoes though.”

Naegi’s legs quivered. He glanced at Komaeda. The Luckster was mouthing the word ‘shoes’ to himself silently as he stared at Naegi’s dressed feet. Then, his eyes lit up in understanding and flashed with something like betrayal.

“I’m sorry, Makoto,” Tsumiki said. “I was so excited I forgot many people have stage fright. We . . . we can take of those needs now, and then they won’t bother you when we go back!”

She reached for him again, and Naegi could only stand there in rooted horror –

Komaeda stepped them, and his pale hand closed over Tsumiki’s wrist. For a moment, he glared at her.

Then, his body slackened. A light smile graced his lips as he said, “Actually, Tsumiki-san, I don’t think that’s what bothered him. I think everything’s just catching up to him and he’s realized what almost happened today. Besides, is he really old enough for that stuff . . .?”

Tsumiki gasped. “Oh, no! I forgot who he really was. I’m so sorry, Makoto! Please forgive me!”

Naegi was silent, but Komaeda wasn’t. “Why don’t you grab him some new shoes? I’ll stay with him.”

Tsumiki rushed off, eager to help. Komaeda waited until she left, then the smile dropped from his face.

“Naegi-kun,” he asked, “why do you want to stay with Kamukura-kun?”

He felt dizzy. “I . . . He’s safe. He’s not going to make me do things I don’t want to.”

“Oh. Is that your reason?” Komaeda’s smile stretched so wide, it was approaching jack o’ lantern territory.

He swallowed. It left a foul taste in his mouth. “He reminds me of Kirigiri-san, too. I like thinking about her. It makes me . . . hope I’ll see her again?”

Komaeda studied him intensely for a moment more, before his expression became natural. “Then that’s an excellent choice, Naegi-kun!”

Naegi actually thought he might have gotten away with it –

“He’s not going to help you,” Komaeda said suddenly. “Kamukura-kun doesn’t put himself on the line like that. Trying to get his help is a waste of time.”

“ . . . It doesn’t matter.” He knew better than Komaeda. He knew Kamukura was more helpful than the Luckster suspected. However, he also knew better than to rely on the former Hope. Kamukura offered help only when he felt like it.

Tsumiki returned with a pair of shoes that probably belonged to Kuzuryu. Once they were on, they dragged him back towards the room, and Naegi begged them the entire time to stop what was going on inside.

Komaeda looked at him oddly. “Naegi-kun, they tried to kill you.”

And Naegi knew that Komaeda wouldn’t stop it.

When they stepped into the room, they saw that Kuzuryu had vacated his desk. He instead knelt in front of a captive, speaking in low tones. The captive was curiously unchained, however, that probably didn’t mean much because Pekoyama’s sword was sticking out of his leg. The Swordswoman kept her grip on the weapon, ready to pull it out and stab again in an instant. Naegi would have stared, but Komaeda pushed him back into that chair (which had been moved away from the puddle of vomit).

“Just in time, Naegi.” Kuzuryu stood, and moved back. “This one’s got something to say to you.”

The captive’s face was pasty. He could do nothing more than drag himself around with his hands to face Naegi.

“We are sorry for everything,” the captive said. “Your room, the assassination attempt . . . we are extremely sorry. Please, forgive . . . _argh!_ ”

Pekoyama’s face was cold as she twisted the sword in the wound.

“Sorry. Sorry?” Kuzuryu spat on the ground. “You try to kill him, blow up everything he has, make him sick, and you think reciting a few meaningless words is enough? That’s bullshit! Go on. Show him just how sorry you are!”

Pekoyama had pulled out a knife and carved into the captive’s back while her Master had spoken. The knife flicked up, sideways, downward, but Naegi didn’t see what pattern it made because his vision had blurred. Colours began to take on a surreal hue, like he was in the middle of dream.

“I’m sorry! _I’m sorry_!” The captive threw himself on the floor at Naegi’s feet, arms stretched out so that he looked like he was bowing to a god. “I shouldn’t have done that! Please forgive me. I beg you!”

The captive’s plead became nothing more than sobs. Kuzuryu smirked, satisfied. He looked to Naegi for his answer.

“I . . . I forgive you.” Naegi refused to look directly at the captive. He couldn’t. “Kuzuryu-kun, please –”

Kuzuryu nodded. He looked at the other captives. “And you two?”

The middle captive, broken by the sight of her teammate, threw herself on the floor similar to him. But the last captive refused to budge, biting his lower lip so hard it bled. Kuzuryu looked the rebel over from head to toe.

“Peko, that’s three strikes, isn’t it?”

The Swordswoman pulled her blade out, but not before taking the chain and lashing the freed captive’s neck to the floor. She marched past Soda to the desk, and grabbed one of the Monokuma helmets. As her Master and the rest of Ultimate Despair looked on, she rammed it onto the head of the rebel.

Kuzuryu fixed his fedora and said to Soda, “Let’s make sure he takes responsibility for his actions.”

Soda grinned. His teeth gleamed. He stroke forward, circled behind the brainwashed captive, and unhooked a screwdriver from his tool belt. He grabbed the top of the Monokuma helmet, and thrust the screwdriver forward into the metal. He stabbed four times, each jab precise, each in a different place. The helmet sparked and one of the eyes only lit up halfway, but the captive remained still even after Soda loosened the chains.

Kuzuryu strutted over. He looked at his brainwashed captive, clearly amused. Then he held his hand out, waiting for Pekoyama, who dropped her knife into the waiting palm. Kuzuryu ran his finger over the flat of the blade and then dropped it in front of the captive.

 Naegi struggled against Komaeda and Tsumiki’s grip on him, watching what was coming without really seeing it. “Kuzuryu-kun, _please_ . . .”

“You.” Kuzuryu was speaking to the brainwashed captive. “Skin yourself.”

Without hesitation, the captive picked up the knife. He brought it to his skin. Where? Naegi couldn’t see. He stared straight ahead, numb.

The other two captives made sounds of distress and revolt. And there was another sound: one of excruciating pain and terror that echoed within the narrow confines of the helmet. For Soda’s careful strikes had left behind a helmet that still controlled its host, but left enough of their mind that they felt and knew exactly what they were doing. The captive’s screams grew in intensity until they seemed to become a never-ending wail of agony that saturated the entire building. Kuzuryu and Pekoyama looked on, undisturbed by the blood soaking into their shoes. Soda cackled wildly in the background as Tsumiki breathed heavily and began to moan. Komaeda smirked quietly, pleased by what he thought to be the captive’s rightful punishment.

And Naegi stared straight ahead, looking without seeing.


	23. The Detention

Naegi still hadn’t moved.

Komaeda had carried him to Kamukura’s room, murmuring some excuse to the others for his behaviour. Komaeda had walked inside with him, passed Kamukura, and then set Naegi down on the new bed Nidai had dragged inside. The Luckster had peeled back the covers before taking off Naegi’s shoes, and then placed him underneath. He brought the blanket up to Naegi’s chin, and tucked it around him. A pale hand brushed back his bangs, and then Komaeda kissed the top of his forehead, like a parent would to a sleeping child. He stood there a little longer, gazing upon his prisoner fondly. Then, Komaeda turned and left Naegi to his new environment.

Naegi didn’t move.

Even if he had been asked to think back, he couldn’t remember falling or not falling asleep. Time had frozen, locking him in a state of cold and numb awareness. His eyes ached; the pattern-less, colourless ceiling was all they could stand. He didn’t think. If he thought, he remembered. If he remembered –

Night came and went. As did morning. Komaeda dropped by once, and Naegi finally moved – to roll away from him. The Luckster stayed and sat by his side, but Naegi ignored him and fell back into his dreamless haze. Eventually, the white-haired teen left, leaving nothing behind but warm fabric where he had been.

Naegi didn’t eat that day. He moved only to use the washroom. He acted quite similar to Kamukura himself, who spent most of this time staring into space.

Upon the arrival of the next morning, Naegi finally woke up mentally. His body was stiff and uncooperative, like he had been frozen in a block of ice for a few years. He could hardly feel his hands as they braced themselves on the bedframe. He stared at the wall, red flashing behind his eyes from sights his brain had refused to memorize. Kamukura glanced at him, but looked away again when he saw Naegi doing nothing interesting.

He should eat, shouldn’t he? He wasn’t hungry. He felt ill, actually. But he needed to. It wasn’t healthy to keep going on like this. Breakfast had been left for him, but it was too fancy for him to even imagine comsuming. Maybe he’d find something plain in the kitchen.

He shuffled over to the exit, back hunched with stiffness. Turning that doorknob filled him with a sense of unfathomable dread, and he had to bite back a sudden surge of tears.

He opened the door.

Komaeda, curled up there on the floor right outside like a dog, blinked at him.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

Naegi tried to shut the door, but Komaeda had already rolled onto the threshold.

“I was wondering when you would come out,” the white-haired teen said cheerfully. “What kind of amazing things were you doing yesterday? Were you in a Hope Coma?  I’ve gotten those, too!”

Kamukura spoke up from behind. “If you’re going to encourage his rants about hope, please leave.”

That seemed like an order. Naegi’s mind, so tired of thinking and so desperate not to remember, latched onto it.

“So, where are we going?” Komaeda asked, trotting behind him like a loyal pet. Out of the corner of his eye, Naegi saw Komaeda reaching for him –

“Don’t touch me.”

Komaeda blinked, startled, but he immediately drew his hand back. “Of course. I understand. You don’t want trash like me touching you, especially after those Future Foundation ingrates tried to force themselves into your life. I bet they’re just jealous. They can’t stand that we get to coexist with such an amazing hope and they don’t, so they tried to destroy you. It’s terribly petty.”

Naegi stopped. Voice low, he said, “You talk like you’re better than them.”

Komaeda didn’t look like he knew how to answer that. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I wouldn’t dream that I was anywhere near the level of you Ultimates. But at least I know my place, right? Not like those Future Foundation goons.”

“You’re worse than them!”

Komaeda stilled. For the first time, Naegi saw him frown.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean,” Komaeda said. “What have I done that’s worse than them?”

Naegi clenched shaking fists. “I don’t know what exactly you and Ultimate Despair do, but I know enough to say this: you’re a murderer. No. That’s not strong enough. You’re a monster. What happened two days ago, you enjoyed it, didn’t you? Did you . . .” He hesitated, hearing Tsumiki’s moans again. “Do you get turned on by it, too?”

“By despair? Of course not!” Komaeda was smiling again, but there was something vicious and sharp to it. “Something as gross and disgusting as that makes my skin crawl. Everything I do is for hope.”

“Destroying the world is for hope?” Naegi spat. “Torturing people is for hope? _Murder_ is for hope!? That’s crazy! There’s no hope in that!”

“Despair breeds hope, Naegi-kun.” Komaeda said. He stared upward at something only he could see. “Besides, hardly any of those people were what you could talented. They were just taking up space.”

Naegi glared at him. All his frustrations, all his anger came back to him in that moment. When he spoke, he did so with purpose, loosing his words like an arrow.

“You don’t care about hope, Komaeda.”

Komaeda’s gaze snapped to him.

“You say you do, maybe you think you do, but you don’t. You’re just like the rest of them. All you care about is causing despair. Hope doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Naegi’s words hung in the air. Komaeda didn’t move; he didn’t even seem to be breathing. And yet, the Luckster’s presence seemed to grow. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but his shadow swelled, darkening the walls. A chilling energy radiated from the older boy, making Naegi’s arms burst into goosebumps.

Komaeda smiled, but his eyes were blank.

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Naegi-kun.”

“Why, because it’s true?” Naegi nearly roared those words, his sudden hate for the Luckster too toxic to be contained.

“I know you’re mad –”

“You don’t know anything about me!” Naegi screamed. “All you care about is that dumb title Kirigiri-san gave me. You don’t want to know anything else! That’s why whatever you’re doing isn’t working, and isn’t going to work. I’m not going to become a monster like you, so just give up already!”

“That’s enough, Naegi-kun.”

“No, that’s not enough,” Naegi said. “I’m not going to –”

“ _That’s enough!_ ”

The pure unnaturalness of Komaeda’s hiss shut him up. Komaeda had never spoken like that before. Komaeda had never _sounded_ like that before. The Luckster’s head was bowed, hiding his face, and a sudden chill went up Naegi’s skin.

Then, Komaeda started to giggle.

“Tough love is such a harsh phrase . . .”

 “Huh?” That threw him off-guard.

Komaeda’s giggles grew higher in pitch and more erratic. His chin raised. Naegi’s heart thumped so loudly it temporarily deafened him. He scrambled back, suddenly deathly afraid –

. . . Komaeda had never had despair swirls in his eyes before.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Komaeda asked as he closed in.

“I . . .” The wall pressed into his back. Komaeda was right there, his breath condensing on Naegi’s forehead.

“Naegi-kun . . .”

Naegi couldn’t express in words how _wrong_ his name sounded coming out of Komaeda’s mouth right now. His eyes had been completely taken over by those glowing, red swirls.

“You can’t go around saying those kinds of things about me. It’s very hurtful.”

Komaeda’s scolding was light, but Naegi couldn’t shake the feeling of danger underneath, like he was staring at an innocent-looking wire that actually had enough current to kill an elephant rushing through it.

Komaeda’s hand was icy cold against his cheek. “You know what a kidnapper is, right? You do understand your position, right?”

This was a trap. Naegi couldn’t answer.

And Komaeda lifted his chin, and looked directly into his eyes. The swirls danced madder than ever. “. . . You understand why I have to punish you, right?”

His whole body felt like it had been dunked in ice water. He didn’t bother hiding the quaver in his voice. “Komaeda-kun, I’m sorry . . .”

“I know you are.”

Komaeda’s arms snaked between him and the wall, and held him close. The Luckster’s body was uncomfortably warm, but Naegi didn’t squirm. He stood there rigid, feeling like he would explode with anxiety as Komaeda did nothing but hold and cuddle him.

“It’s my fault,” Komaeda said. “I’ve been negligent. That’s why you’re saying things like this. I’ve been a horrible teacher.”

There were a thousand things he could say. He didn’t have enough courage to say any of them.

“I promise I’ll be better,” Komaeda said.

Naegi finally swallowed past the knot in his throat. “I –”

A sharp pain in his neck stole the words from his mouth. Naegi ripped himself out of Komaeda’s grip, and stumbled backwards into the wall. He touched the spot where it ached, shaking . . .

And Komaeda calmly tucked the needle back into his pocket.

“K-Komaeda-kun?”

“Naegi-kun, you know I love you, right? Everything I do is for your own good.”

“Please . . .”

As the drowsiness swept in, Komaeda stepped forward and let Naegi fall into his waiting arms.

“It’s all for you, Naegi-kun. Everything I do is for you.”

Black crawled into his vision and stole his consciousness away-

* * *

_Bang_.

Naegi woke with dry drool on his chin. It was a weird sleeping position he found himself in. He was in a chair? And he was slouched over with his cheek against something smooth and hard. His arms were also on the smooth surface, wrists on either side of his head. He lifted his chin and once he got a passing look, immediately figured out he was seated at a school desk. It was like waking up in Hope’s Peak all over again.

 _Bang_.

That noise . . . he couldn’t place it, but he knew that sound. Fear pooled in the bottom of his stomach. His body suddenly felt too hot for his clothes. He . . . he was scared, and not entirely sure why.

 _Bang_.

Slowly, he looked behind him.

There lay two great wooden posts bound together at the top – a guillotine with no lower restraint. There was no blade here, but a thick, heavy block that shook the earth itself every time it slammed down. A network of gears and mechanism spun at regular intervals, raising the block high before releasing it to the whim of gravity.

This . . .

This was his execution.

 _Bang_.

He tried to run. Something cold and hard bit into his wrists. He looked back and . . . his wrists were shackled and bolted to the desk. _Why_? Who? He pulled, trying to squeeze them through the shackles. The metal chafed against his skin.

The conveyor belt slowly dragged him and the desk toward the guillotine. Naegi bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. No. _No_. He wasn’t doing this again. Not here. Not now. He’d . . . he had to get out!

 _Bang_.

Alter Ego wouldn’t be here this time. Nobody was. What was he even doing here? This was a nightmare, right? He wasn’t in Hope’s Peak anymore.

“Hello, Naegi-kun!”

That voice . . . Suddenly, things made too much sense.

_Bang._

Naegi looked up. He’d been so preoccupied with the machine behind him that he’d completely missed the blackboard in front of him. And the person standing in front of it. Komaeda grinned at him, face crazed, but eyes swirl-free. He held a metre stick in one hand that was pointed at the center of the board. Unlike last time, there was nothing about sex ed. or the guillotine in the chalk writing. Instead. Komaeda had covered the entire board with repetitions of the word ‘Hope’.

“Ready for class?”

 _Bang_.

“Komaeda-kun, what are you doing? This isn’t funny!”

“I know.” The white-haired teen said. The metre stick tapped the board. “Hope is a very serious subject!”

“Are . . . are you doing this because you’re mad at me!?”

“How could I ever be mad at you? I don’t have that right.”

He was lying. He had to be.

 _Bang_.

“Okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I said you didn’t care about hope. Can you unlock these please?”

“Hope . . .” Komaeda took his time saying that word. He turned to the board. “Hope is a wonderful thing, Naegi-kun.”

This had to be a joke. Now was certainly not the time for a hope rant.

“. . . It’s what drives us onward and carries us from day to day. Hope is the prize that every man and woman reaches for; it’s the Holy Grail that speaks to us in our dreams.”

 _Bang_.

They were a third of the way there. Monokuma robots had lined up on either side of the conveyor belt to watch. Naegi shouted at them, pleading for help, but the robots did not move. Komaeda had gotten there first.

“ . . . Hope is what the world was founded on. The acts of talented people, of _Ultimates_ reformed the world, taking us from primitive cavemen to the society we were before the Tragedy.”

 _Bang_.

“Komaeda-kun, do you realize if I go under that, I’m going to die?”

Approaching halfway. The Monokuma’s heads turned as they passed.

“ . . . That’s why we need to preserve hope, and to strive for the biggest, brightest one we can possibly find.”

 _Bang_.

“Komaeda-kun!”

What was the Luckster waiting for? He couldn’t really be willing to let Naegi die, right? But he’d already apologized. What more could he possibly want? Maybe . . . consensus?

They were over halfway there now.

“Yes! Uh . . .” He struggled to come up with one of those fancy, ridiculous metaphors. “Hope is the blood that runs through our veins?”

“Exactly!”

 _Bang_.

“Without hope we are . . . pathetic commoners? We’re like mindless animals. And that’s bad because animals can’t rule society? People with and without hope live in two completely different worlds.” He paused. What were some of those other things Togami like to say?

It was hard to remember when each smash of the guillotine made his chest tighten another degree.

“See, you’re getting it, Naegi-kun!”

“Yes! Hope is the best thing ever. But, uh, Komaeda-kun? We’re getting really close to the block. Maybe you should unlock these now.”

Komaeda’s smile stretched wide. There was no emotion in his eyes. “I can’t do that.”

“I know you’re mad, but-!”

“I _can’t_ ,” the Luckster repeated, and he looked downward. Naegi followed his gaze and he saw it. Just as his own wrists had been shackled and bolted to the desk, Komaeda’s ankles were shackled and bolted to the floor.

Fear leeched out from the core of his being. “Komaeda-kun? You have the key, right?”

Komaeda’s laugh was a short, derisive thing. He pointed at a table very much beyond either of their reach. “Oh, I left it on that table over there.”

 _Bang_.

Terror clogged his throat as he understood just what kind of situation this was. Komaeda’s smile was nothing but haunting now, sending shivers all the way down to his marrow. There was a buzzing in his ears, increasing in intensity as the slamming of the block began to shake and bounce the desk with each crash.

Three quarters of the way, now.

“Monokuma, grab the key!” Naegi shouted. The robotic bears stared at him lifelessly. “Over there, get the key!”

“They can’t do that, Naegi-kun.” Komaeda’s stick fell to rest at his side. “I ordered them not to interfere. If they got us out of here then that would defeat the whole purpose of this setup.”

“There’s a purpose?” Naegi said eagerly, latching onto that. A purpose meant that this wasn’t set up as a long-delayed execution.

 _Bang_.

“We can’t escape, Naegi-kun,” Komaeda said with a grin that did not match the circumstances. “These shackles are much too strong to break. The only way out of them is with that key, and it’s nowhere near us. Even with the Ultimate Gymnast’s flexibility, I couldn’t reach it. Maybe if I had Tanaka-kun’s hamsters. . .”

 _Bang_.

“Oh well!” Komaeda threw his hands up, and his metre stick flew over and behind the board. “There’s only one thing we can do now. We have to _HOPE_ everything will be okay! Ahahahahahaha! See, Naegi-kun? It’s hope! That’s how much I love it. I’m willing to die right now so my last thoughts are hopeful ones. _It’s all about **hope!**_ ”

And the swirls were back and brighter than ever.

Komaeda laughed. And he laughed and laughed and laughed, somehow even louder than the guillotine creeping up on them. The world flickered, and Naegi suddenly envisioned two audiences before him: one, the crowd of apathetic, smiling Monokumas; and two, the horrified faces of his friends.

“Look at me, Naegi-kun. See how lucky I am?”

A shadow passed over them as the block rose for the final time.

“. . . I get to die with the Ultimate Hope.”

For the second time in his life, the block descended on him.

For the second time in his life, it didn’t kill him.

The conveyor belt jerked to a stop. A terrible shriek emitted from the guillotine as it forcefully slowed, just managing to splinter the top of the blackboard Komaeda stood at. A single piece of debris fell on the Luckster’s nose and his laughter cut off. He curiously glanced upwards. And Naegi stared and blinked and dug his teeth into his lower lip until it hurt and he knew he wasn’t dreaming.

“. . . The hell?”

Owari stood at a previously unnoticed control panel, her hand firmly on a big red button. She looked confused, although over time, that emotion gave way to something like anger. The Monokumas scurried out of her way as she marched forward; those that were too slow found themselves viciously backhanded. She ended up between the two boys, back to Naegi as she stared down Komaeda.

“Hey, Owari-san!” Komaeda waved at her. The swirls were gone. “Do you mind grabbing the key? I left it on that table over there.”

“What the hell?” she said again, accenting each word. “You and Junior nearly got squashed!”

“But we didn’t, thanks to your amazing reflexes.”

“Not the point,” Owari said in a tone that suggested she was very much used to her classmate’s . . . Komaeda-ness. “What were you doing?”

“It’s okay, Owari-san.” Komaeda rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It would have stopped automatically if you hadn’t stepped in.”

. . . That jerk.

“Oh. Well. Yeah, sure. Where’s that key?”

Owari retrieved the key for them, and unlocked Naegi’s shackles. He immediately shot out of his seat, rubbing uninjured wrists over and over like he was in a trance. Owari dropped the key on the desk and left, telling him to do whatever he wanted with it.

“Naegi-kun, can you unlock my chains?”

He obeyed without question. He didn’t think.

(Maybe it would have been better to leave him there)

“Thank you,” Komaeda said. He stretched a little, shoulders cracking.

Naegi stared at the ground. Even if it had been set to stop, Komaeda had really threatened to kill them both for . . . for what? Fear crept up his spine again. He didn’t understand. What was the point? Why? So he – _they_ – could die while _hoping_ they didn’t? That was . . . that was insane! Komaeda was insane!

A perfectly friendly Komaeda bounced forward and grabbed his hands.

 “How does it feel, Naegi-kun? You must have felt so much despair when we went under that block . . . but nothing happened. You’re alive! Isn’t that so inspiring? Doesn’t it make you want to run around and tell everyone how happy you are to be alive?”

He remembered to breathe. He lifted his gaze, and looked Komaeda in the eye. Had that . . . had that really been the point? Had Komaeda really meant that as a life lesson or something?

_“ . . . You understand why I have to punish you, right?”_

. . . Or had it been meant to be something else?

“So, have I proven myself to you?” Komaeda asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Do you understand how serious I am about everything now?”

“Yes. Of course,” Naegi croaked.

“Fantastic!” Komaeda clapped his hands together. “You get it now. I don’t need to worry that we’re misunderstanding each other.”

Komaeda suddenly squeezed his hands. He leaned in so that Naegi could see nothing but his face. His eyes opened wide, but there was no emotion in them. Those weren’t a friend’s eyes he was looking at. Those were a beast’s eyes. The gleam Naegi saw there threatened to smother him.

“And I know you’ll never, ever accuse me of anything that terrible again.”

 “. . . N-never.”

“Good . . . Naegi-kun, even if you don’t understand what happened today, could you please remember one thing?”

He waited nervously for Komaeda’s request, but it didn’t come. The Luckster’s eyes were tightly closed, and his lips were drawn tight.

Then those eyes opened, and he saw swirls within them.

“You lived,” Komaeda said.

And Naegi went cold all over as he heard what Komaeda really meant to say.

_I **let** you live._

Komaeda lifted his hand, and Naegi flinched, but the white-haired teen merely stroked his cheek, smiling. It was a bad smile. It was a wrong smile. It was the lazy grin of a cat passing an injured bird from paw to paw.

“I’m really glad you said those things to me, Naegi-kun,” Komaeda said. His hand lingered on Naegi’s skin. “It helped me realize that I really have been neglecting you. All this time, I’ve basically been hanging around letting you do your own thing . . . It’s no wonder we’ve been making so little progress.  But you don’t need to worry about that anymore. From now on, I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

This sounded bad.

This sounded _really_ bad.

“You don’t need to do that,” Naegi said, desperate. “You’ve done a great job. Really! I-”

“ _No, that’s wrong_!”

The familiar words shocked Naegi into silence. He almost felt betrayed, like that phrase was supposed to belong to him alone.

“I really haven’t,” Komaeda continued. “I’ve had all sorts of ideas and exercises that I’ve never bothered to implement, but that’s going to change.”

“Komaeda-kun, please-!”

“Just you wait, Naegi-kun.  We’re going to have a great time!”


	24. The Heir

“ . . . And he was going to kill both of us! He didn’t even care! He just talked about it like I was asking what time it was. I saw him. He didn’t flinch when that block was going to crush us. He didn’t care. He was ready to die to make some point about hope that doesn’t even make sense. I’m not sure I believe him when he said it would stop automatically. If Owari-san hadn’t been there, I think I would be dead.”

“If you were saved by luck, then that is why Komaeda wasn’t concerned,” Kamukura said in his monotone voice. He was standing in front of one of his cabinets, staring at the shelves at nothing in particular. “Komaeda trusts his luck above all. The possibility of it betraying him never would have crossed his mind.”

Naegi shook his head. “That’s nuts. Luck’s random. You can’t trust your life to it.”

Kamukura half-turned his head. “Komaeda’s luck is only partially random. In most cases, the methods it uses are unpredictable. However, the outcome itself can often be predicted. . . His luck is consistent enough to be exploitable.” Komaeda turned back to the shelf. “When you escaped, do you know how Komaeda originally planned to catch you?”

“No.” Naegi took a step closer to the older boy, listening closely. This was important.

“Komaeda had placed a single snare trap randomly in the city.”

“. . . That’s it?”

“Yes.” Kamukura picked up a rubik’s cube Naegi had failed to solve earlier, and solved it within ten seconds. He put it back, sighing in boredom. “There is no doubt you would have triggered it. I’m almost disappointed you didn’t. I am unsure whether your good or bad luck would have activated in response. However, the alternative was sufficiently unexpected.”

Right. Kamukura didn’t care about his predicament. The only reason Naegi was ranting to him was that Kamukura was there and wouldn’t rat him out. It made him suddenly wonder where Komaeda was and what he was planning. Naegi hadn’t honestly feared Komaeda since the rest of Ultimate Despair had discovered him, but that was changing.

“You are correct. Komaeda’s actions were not about hope,” Kamukura said. “You upset him.”

Naegi winced. Running a hand through his hair, he said, “I may have accused him of not caring about hope.”

“ . . . I don’t understand your insistence on provoking them,” Kamukura said.

“I told you that I don’t do it on purpose!” Naegi pouted, aware of how much he sounded like a whining child.

“And yet you continue to do it.”

It felt like he was being scolded by a parent. That just frustrated him more. Kamukura really didn’t have any right to criticize when Naegi’s willingness to push back was the only thing protecting him from Komaeda. He turned his back to the other boy (not like Kamukura was looking at him anyways . . .), giving him a nice view of the window, and the outside.

“I got out,” Naegi whispered. “I was out. I was free. You were right. Luck brought me right back. All that work, and I ended up walking in a circle. Most of them didn’t even notice I was running away. They thought I ran off because I was trying to get away from the Future Foundation’s assassins. They . . . they made him kill himself. And Togami-kun . . . Togami-kun . . . _why_ . . .”

Kamukura didn’t move when Naegi fell against the window and cried. His skin stuck to the glass, holding him up for a few seconds, before he slipped to the floor. He stayed there on his knees, forehead against the wall. Behind his closed eyes, he saw Togami during their first meeting. Cold. Angry. Disgusted. He’d never taken the other boy’s insults seriously. Not even the death threats.  He’d thought Togami had changed. But had he . . . had he misjudged Togami from the beginning?

Had . . .

Had Togami hated him all along?

Komaeda found him like that: huddled under the window, fresh tear tracks on his face. Naegi raised his head. Komaeda looked back at him. His expression was curious, but when he saw he had Naegi’s attention, he smiled. Naegi quickly wiped his eyes.

“Naegi-kun, let’s go.” Komaeda offered his hand.

Naegi took it.

“Where are we going?” Naegi asked after a few minutes. Komaeda was leading him down an unfamiliar route, not speaking much. The white-haired teen had his hands in his pockets; he appeared to be deep in thought.

“I’ve been thinking, Naegi-kun. You have a lot of things on your mind, don’t you? It’s hard to focus when you have unfinished business.”

“I have unfinished business?” Naegi asked.

Komaeda dipped his head a little, but otherwise didn’t answer. He stopped in front of a door Naegi wasn’t familiar with, and nudged Naegi towards it.

“In there,” he said.

Naegi opened the door. He wasn’t sure what kind of unfinished business could be here. He still had no idea what kind of business –

Oh.

Oh. He saw it.

He wasn’t ready for this.

The door shut behind him. Naegi whipped around and grabbed the handle. The door inched open . . . and then slammed shut as Komaeda pushed from the other side. Naegi hammered the wood with his fists, pleading with the older teen to be let out. But Komaeda wouldn’t budge and Naegi could picture him braced against the door.

“Would you stop that racket?”

Naegi swallowed. He didn’t need to look in order to see Togami’s pompous scorn. He had planned to speak to the blond heir, but not now. Not until he had time to get his thoughts and feelings together.  Seeing Togami now, seated at a desk with a book – as if they were in the library at Hope’s Peak – tore his heart in two. One half filled with acceptance, sorrow, and guilt ( _What did I do? How did I mess up? I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone!_ ); the other, with disdain, hurt, and anger ( _How could you do this? Do people really mean that little to you? How could you? How could you how could you **how could you**_ **?** ). Unable to decide on one set of emotions or another, he stood there with thin lips, shaking fists, and a burning throat.

“Thank you,” Togami said. “Did Komaeda send you?”

Naegi nodded stiffly.

Togami sighed, and put down his book. “I was expecting this, although not so soon. Komaeda warned me I needed to clear some nonsense from your head.”

“ _Why_?” he blurted out. “How can you help them? Why would you join Ultimate Despair?”

Togami looked at him evenly. “Why not?”

Huh?

“Why wouldn’t I?” Togami repeated. “A Togami’s place has always been at the top of society. Even if society has become this . . . soiled wasteland, that rule still stands. Why would I possibly want to reject an invitation from this new world’s elite? I have only everything to gain, and hardly anything to lose.”

“You’ll become a monster, Togami-kun,” Naegi whispered. “They’re monsters. They’re murderers.”

Togami scoffed at that. “Do you forget to whom you were speaking to? I am Togami Byakuya, heir to the Togami Corporation, once the most powerful company in the world. Do you think my family reached that position by playing nice? Whatever havoc this _Ultimate Despair_ can reap is nothing compared to what my dynasty was capable of – if they had chosen not to rule from the shadows. This, Naegi, is child’s play.”

“They _tortured_ them!” Naegi cried, stepping closer to Togami as he spoke because Togami didn’t _know_. “Those people from the Future Foundation, they tortured them and killed them. I was there. They made me sit there and watch.”

“Good. Maybe that will make you understand.”

Naegi had no answer to that. There was no answer to that. He waited there in quiet shock as Togami rose and walked over. He stood like a king, chin turned slightly upward as his arms crossed over his chest.

“There are consequences for challenging the elite. You witnessed them. Now, are you truly trying to convince me that I should go against them? That I should abandon my birthright for a futile cause and subject myself to the same grisly fate?”

Naegi’s voice cracked. “It’s not futile! If we work together, we can stop this! We can make things right again.”

“And what is this ‘right’?” Togami asked. He no longer stared at Naegi, but a spot on the wall. “You speak as if war never existed prior to this. You speak as if war wasn’t ongoing in the world before the Tragedy. War has always existed. Starvation will always exist. Genocide, slavery, torture . . . it’s never faded from the world. The only difference between that world and this is the scale and parties involved. We couldn’t stop the wars when society was ‘right’’. How can you imagine us stopping them when the pillars of the world have collapsed?”

Naegi was tearing up. The burning spread up his throat to the back of his mouth.

“We couldn’t stop Enoshima Junko,” Togami said. “If she had decided not to play within the rules, do you think we could have stopped her from killing us? I hope you haven’t been fooling yourself with the delusion that we defeated her. She chose to defeat herself. If we couldn’t defeat one member of Ultimate Despair, do you think we can beat them all? Defeat a country of their sympathizers?”

“We did beat her!” Naegi said. His legs wobbled, threatening to send him to his knees. “Don’t you remember? We refused to give into despair and chose hope . . .”

“And there,” Togami said loudly, “is the crux of your delusions. You think that choosing hope somehow makes you invincible. That it makes you _important_. Tell me, is hope going to shield me against bullets? If I hope hard enough, will I regenerate a missing arm? No. Your hope is a concept. It is a word. Your hope can’t protect me. It is meaningless -!”

Togami’s door suddenly opened.

“Togami-kun, that’s enough.” Komaeda marched in and hugged Naegi from behind, whispering into his ear. “Don’t listen to him, Naegi-kun. Of course, your hope is important. Togami-kun’s just confused. He jealous he can’t take your hope for himself.”

Togami scoffed and started walking in the direction of his desk. Naegi watched him, eyes cold. Something burned deep within his soul, and it was growing.

“You’re wrong.”

“. . . I’m wrong?’ Togami said, speaking with a cadence that suggested those two words had never been put together before.

“Maybe you think fighting back is meaningless, but it’s not!” He strained against Komaeda’s hug like a dog tugging at its collar. “I’ll prove it. If you want to be a coward, then you can stay here and do that. But I’m going to find the others and we’re going to prove you wrong!”

“ . . . Coward?” Togami growled.

“That’s right, you tell him, Naegi-kun! Let him know just how strong your hope is! Let his words roll right off your back.”

Togami’s gaze shifted to Komaeda. “Isn’t this defeating your purpose?”

 “Well, kind of,” the white-haired teen admitted. Naegi felt Komaeda slump against him. “But how can I refuse such wonderful hope? It’s what I’ve been looking for.”

“Don’t ignore me!” Naegi snapped at Togami.

Togami seemed to take a deep breath. Naegi could feel he had the full weight of the heir’s attention, and braced himself accordingly.

“I have no interest in pursuing this further,” Togami said.

“. . . That’s it?” Naegi said.

“I’ve said all that needs to be said.”

Naegi still wanted to fight, but Komaeda was pulling at his clothes and bundling him away. He let the Luckster step between them and position himself so that Naegi could no longer look at Togami directly. Past the other’s shoulders, he could see enough of Togami to know he was heading back to his desk. He was probably going to pick up his book again and pretend this conversation had never happened.

“I’ll prove him wrong,” Naegi muttered as they stepped out of Togami’s room.

“Once your hope is unstoppable, you’ll prove everyone wrong.”

Naegi hadn’t said anything, but Komaeda must have felt how he tensed at that.

“If Togami-kun won’t help me, then I’ll just have to do it without him. My friends will help me. I know they will.”

Komaeda sighed. “So you still haven’t given up. Naegi-kun, I know what you were trying to do when the Future Foundation attacked us. I’m not mad, it’s just . . . Wouldn’t it be easier to redirect your energy towards improving your hope rather than . . . than toward something that’s not going to happen?”

Naegi didn’t know what to say. The answer was obvious: he wasn’t giving up. But to tell Komaeda _that_? Komaeda would . . .

Komaeda sighed again. He didn’t look upset. Just exasperated. Like he was watching a dumb dog repeatedly try to walk through a glass door.

Komaeda said, “Come on. I’ll take you back to your room.”

Komaeda did so and left him there, claiming he had something to do. Naegi told himself he wasn’t morbidly curious and set to sulking in the middle of the room. His conversation with Togami replayed itself and suddenly, it seemed like he had a dozen comebacks for every comment from the Heir. He took the best ones, and his mind sharpened them like a knife.

“You spoke to the imposter,” Kamukura said. He was lying on his bed again.

Naegi snorted. “Yeah. That’s a good word for him. He’s not the Togami-kun I thought I knew. I wonder if everything I saw there was a mask. He was supposed to be this stubborn, ambitious heir that achieved anything he put his mind to. He said he was going to rebuild his dynasty from the ground up and rule the world once more.  Instead, he took the easy way out and joined you guys. He lied. He betrayed us. Just . . . why?”

His anger was slowly fading, being replaced with something deeper and more painful.

“Kamukura-kun, the things Ultimate Despair does, doesn’t it ever bother you? I mean all the people they’ve hurt. . . it has to bug you.”

“It is impossible for their pain to disturb me,” Kamukura said blandly.

Naegi grit his teeth. “So you’re choosing to sit by and not care.”

“You misunderstand me.” Kamukura shifted a little. It was probably the closest thing to an expression of emotions Naegi would see today. “It is not possible for me to be disturbed by their pain.”

He didn’t get it. Naegi chose to let his contempt fall away this time in favour of understanding. “What do you mean?”

“I was designed to be the Ultimate Hope. I was not born and raised into my talent as you were. The scientists who created me wanted a talented person with the power to hoard and apply all the known talent in the world. For that means, they took away everything they felt would distract from that goal. Emotions. Empathy. Love. Anything that did not directly relate to the gathering of talent was excised. I do not feel for those people because I do not feel sympathy or guilt. Those circuits in my brain no longer exist.”

Naegi didn’t know if Kamukura was telling the truth, but he couldn’t think of a reason why he would do that. And when he remembered when he saw the Kamukura in the yearbook, how _empty_ he seemed, it made horrible sense.

“Th-that’s . . . that’s awful! Are you telling me you don’t feel anything?”

“I feel bored.” Kamukura’s shoulders twitched in what may have been an attempt at a shrug.

“But that can’t be true! I mean I know you’re not as expressive as me or even Kirigiri-san, but you’re not an empty shell. There’s something more in you. I know it. I’ve seen it.”

Kamukura looked him in the eye. “Kamukura Izuru did not feel emotion.”

“But what about your family, or your friends? They must have seen something in you, too.”

“His parents didn’t care,” Kamukura said. “They were so overjoyed to finally have a talented son, they ignored that he was no longer human. Kamukura Izuru did not have friends either. His talent and lack of personality frightened his classmates and kept them away. Komaeda Nagito tried, but a servant is not a friend. Kamukura Izuru was alone.”

It was terrible to think about. Naegi couldn’t fathom what it was like to have nobody on your side, or to live without the warmth of friendship. As he watched Kamukura stare at the ceiling and do nothing, he pitied the talented teen. To feel for so long that you were alone in the world . . . He wanted to prove that wrong. He wanted to prove to Kamukura that he hadn’t been – that he _wasn’t_ – alone.

So, he did it. He broached the one topic that was usually forbidden.

“What about her?” he asked quietly. “That girl in the picture?”

Kamukura was silent for a long time.

“She tried,” he answered softly. “I say that honestly. She tried. But no matter how hard she tried to hide it, it was never enough. Kamukura was not the one she wanted. It would have been better had he never existed.”

“Kamukura-kun, what are you saying! Why would you think something like that?”

“You don’t understand,” Kamukura said, still with those same soft tones. “It is beyond your ability to comprehend. Only one who has gone through the procedure can truly grasp what you lose in return.”

Naegi stared at him, mouth open. Kamukura was emotionless. Kamukura had spoken with no expression. But that didn’t shake the feeling he had, that Kamukura was _wrong_. He wasn’t a robot. Kamukura was alive.

“Kamukura-kun . . .  who was she?”

“ . . . Nanami Chiaki. Ultimate Gamer.”

Naegi nodded, as if he could remember her. “What was she like?”

Kamukura shifted. “She was usually playing games. You had to watch her if she was walking, because she would be too busy playing to notice if she was about to collide with something else . . . She could navigate settings well enough; it was dynamically changing objects that surprised her. Because of the gaming, she could be slow to respond and most people assumed she was meek and passive. She was anything but. She was intelligent. She was brave. When she wanted something, she pursued it intensely and refused to give up. It didn’t matter what stood in her way. Danger meant nothing to her, if in the process she thought she could help a friend . . .”

Suddenly, Kamukura stopped talking. Naegi looked over. Kamukura was sitting up, staring straight ahead.

“ . . . I don’t understand. How?”

“Huh?”

Kamukura looked at him.

“ . . . It’s nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did try to give Naegi a break this chapter. I tried to take out the confrontation with the Imposter and save it for later, but it was so important to this chapter that it didn't work. I swear, this story finally gets a breather in... two chapters!


	25. The Liar

“ . . . I recognize what he has done for my friends and me and by extension, the world. But the world can overcome despair without Naegi Makoto. With the help of the Future Foundation, we intend to . . .”

The crisp, but soft tones of Kirigiri Kyoko’s voice was drowned out by humming. Kicking his feet under the desk, Komaeda played with a dial on the panel in front of him. Kirigiri’s voice suddenly warped, forming incomprehensible sounds before jittering to a stop. Then, her voice drifted through the room once more.

“ . . . I recognize what he has done for my friends and me . . .”

Komaeda sighed fondly, and stared at the screen in front of him. Enoshima was right: hope and despair were contagious. Just listen to the Ultimate Detective! How could that speech be described as anything but hopeful?

Onscreen, cameras flashed as Kirigiri finished speaking. The Chairman of the Future Foundation stepped on stage, preaching similar words of hope into the microphone. Komaeda watched closely. Half his mind was occupied with soaking up those words of hope; the other half of his mind whirred with plans and next steps that needed to be implemented.

The door opened. Komaeda didn’t even need to look to know who it was. He leaned forward instead, listening to the buzz of Naegi-kun’s hope as it came out of Kirigiri Kyoko’s mouth.

“Why did you call me?” the Imposter demanded.

Komaeda swivelled around in his chair. “Hello, Togami-kun. I’m so glad you were willing to see trash like me.”

“Don’t waste my time.” The Imposter marched into the center of the room, crossing his arms over his chest. “What did you want?”

“It’s about your previous assignment. I have a few questions about that place.”

“My previous assignment?” The Imposter raised a brow. “What do you want to know about Towa City?”

* * *

“You’re still here.”

“ . . . I was hoping I would never have to say those words to you,” Iwata said.

The two of them sat next to each other in the nearly empty prison. Naegi wasn’t sure what had dragged him down here, but he hadn’t expected – he had hoped for a different outcome – to see Iwata back in his cell. Even the prisoner who had helped Iwata take on the Monokuma soldiers was no longer here. It was just the two of them, and a couple of prisoners Naegi hadn’t seen before.

The new prisoners had been especially upset. When Naegi walked in, their heads had whipped around, eyes filled with fire. Fire that had dimmed to mere embers when they saw whom stood in the doorway. Then, the denial started. One of the new prisoners had muttered about how the rumours were true, and that they had been lied to. Naegi had tried to tell them that he wasn’t working with Ultimate Despair, but they hadn’t really responded.

Iwata, on the other hand, had merely stared. He had been unable to speak at all until Naegi sat beside him in a gesture of resignation. Naegi hadn’t been able to meet Iwata’s eyes because he was ashamed of how useless he was. Iwata had given up his chance to escape to help him, and Naegi had made it all meaningless. He was no hero. He was barely even Hope.

“I brought food,” Naegi said. To the other two prisoners, he said, “I have enough for you, too.”

“You probably poisoned it,” one of the prisoners snarled.

That seemed to raise Iwata’s hackles.  The thick, concrete walls between the cells meant he couldn’t see who had spoken, but he turned toward that wall anyways. “Naegi-kun is not one of them!”

“I don’t blame them for thinking I am,” Naegi said. “I mean it’s not like I’m locked in there with you guys.”

“Exactly. If he isn’t a prisoner, then why is he here?” the prisoner asked.

Naegi didn’t think there was a way to explain without implicating himself. He settled for a vague, “Ultimate Despair is crazy.”

Which really hadn’t been the best answer. It did not go over well. One of the two cursed him, and Iwata lay tense next to him, ready to leap to his defense. Naegi bowed his head and took the insults as they came.

To Iwata, he said, “I don’t think I’ll be able to use the same trick again, but I promise I’ll get you out.”

“Do not taunt us with empty promises,” the prisoner growled.

“It’s not a taunt. I mean it! I’m going to try to get you guys out of here!” This time, he did look to Iwata for support. “I got the others out, right?”

(Naegi didn’t notice Iwata’s hesitation).

 “Yes. They escaped.”

 “Exactly! And I’ll help you guys escape, too. Like I said, I don’t think I’ll be able to trick the Monokumas again, but there’s plenty of other things I can try.”

The prisoners didn’t seem to know what to believe. After he and Iwata waited a while for a fight that never came, Iwata chomped down the rest of his meal, and then addressed Naegi.

“What happened? How did they stop you?”

Naegi stared at him. His blood ran icy-cold.

“ . . . One of them tracked me down while I was trying to get through the city,” Naegi lied.

“So, you did make it outside?”

“I did.”

They sat together in silent companionship. The other two prisoners had retreated to the back of their cells, content to pretend Naegi didn’t exist. The orange firelight of the torches licked at the walls. Occasionally, it bounced off the eyes of Naegi’s robotic babysitter, who waited patiently at the prison’s exit. He had to say, the prison seemed much more comfortable with less people. That veil of despair no longer haunted the cells; Iwata still had a lot of hope, and the other two prisoners were too new – too angry – to have succumbed to despair.

“. . . Sorry, but have you guys seen the rest of my class?” Naegi had to ask.

“They’re with the Future Foundation,” one prisoner said. “It was a dumb decision. We never would have taken them if we knew their leader was cooperating with Ultimate Despair. We would have put a bullet –”

“I’m not working with them!” Naegi shouted. “Besides, I wasn’t the leader anyways. If we had one, I guess I’d say it was probably Kirigiri-san.”

“You’re still claiming that your presence here isn’t what it looks like?”

“Because it’s true! My friends and I would never –”

But he trailed off as Togami’s face flashed before him.

The prisoner noticed. She was at the front of her cell again, clutching the bars. “Yes?”

“Naegi-kun?” Iwata grabbed his shoulder, concerned.

Naegi gave him a shaky smile. “It’s nothing. I got a little distracted. I would never help Ultimate Despair . . . Iwata-kun, I have to go now, but I’ll bring you something to eat later.”

Naegi stood and walked towards the exit, ignoring the glowers of the other two prisoners. He waited for the Monokuma to step aside, and then opened the door. He stepped through the threshold –

Komaeda gave him a thin smile.

“Did you enjoy your visit?”

Naegi stood like a rabbit that had spotted a fox. Komaeda waited patiently for him to explain himself, his visage having changed to one of angelic understanding. Naegi’s cheeks grew flushed at the attention, and he set his eyes on Komaeda’s shoes as fear trickled up his spine. He should have expected this. He had disappeared for way too long; it was only right that Komaeda would notice. Komaeda must have been standing out here for a while, frustrated –

Why did he even care! This wasn’t his fault. _They_ had locked Iwata and the Future Foundation members up. _They_ had kidnapped him and were keeping him here. _They_ had no right to ever say they were disappointed! If they weren’t going to chain him up and physically keep him from these people, they couldn’t complain.

. . . But he really couldn’t risk sending Komaeda off the deep end again.

Naegi mumbled, “I did.”

Silence.

“That’s a relief!” Komaeda said. “I thought it might get boring now that there are so few people in there.”

“ . . . You’re not mad?” It was a trick. It had to be a trick.

“Why would I be mad?” Komaeda said, and he sounded genuinely confused.

“Because you . . . you . . . you don’t like it when I talk to them.”

“When did I ever say that? I’ve never tried to do anything but support you and your relationships.”

“No, you did! You didn’t like me talking to them. I know you don’t!”

They were close. Naegi was nearly speaking into Komaeda’s neck. For his part, the Luckster gave him a perplexed stare with his eyebrows raised. He gingerly raised his hands, and then gently pushed Naegi back a step.

“You’re still upset about what Kuzuryu-kun did, aren’t you? I think you’re internalizing that anger and that’s why you’re making up things like this.”

“I’m not making up anything!”

Why was he tearing up? It was just a lie. A dumb lie, at that. But he was tearing up, and he was biting back a whimper and _it made no sense_. He knew what he had heard, and what he had seen. Why was Komaeda saying otherwise? This entire thing was so stupid!

“Hey . . . just try to relax, okay?” Komaeda was massaging his shoulders. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re lying to me.”

The corners of Komaeda’s mouth dropped. “Naegi-kun . . .”

Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he heard a note of warning in that word and his heart leapt up his throat.

“I’m sorry!” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it.”

Komaeda studied him for a moment more, before breaking out into an easy smile.

“That’s okay. I know you didn’t. I forgive you.”

Naegi wasn’t sure what had triggered it or what was going on anymore, but Komaeda had weaved their fingers together. He pulled Naegi along behind him as they walked towards some unknown destination. Each step cast a shadow of doom over him; his stomach dropped further and further. Yet, he didn’t stop himself from moving. He didn’t know what would happen if he tried to fight back.

The room Komaeda brought him to was not what he expected. There was nothing in it. Literally. It was an empty room. It had a white floor and grey walls, and hardly more room than the prison cells. Naegi had no idea what Komaeda wanted, until the white-haired teen sat down cross-legged by the far wall.

“Naegi-kun.” Komaeda nodded at him as he sat down, like they hadn’t walked here together and Naegi had simply shown up. “I think we should talk. Something’s obviously bothering you.”

“Of course something is,” he said, on the verge of shouting. “They . . . they . . . you saw it! You saw what they did to them. I don’t understand why you’re not upset.”

“So, this is about what Kuzuryu-kun did?”

The mere thought of that question, the mere indication that Komaeda wasn’t 100% certain about what was haunting him, erased what little control he had. He could almost hear the crack as his voice jumped from Very Loud to Screaming. “ _YES! It is!_ They tortured him. They made him torture himself to death, and you just stood there and watched. You didn’t care! I heard what you said. You thought he deserved it!”

He lost track of what other horrible accusations he made. Komaeda endured them all, face crafted as to be carefully neutral. No matter how loudly Naegi screamed at him or what he said, Komaeda did not move. He was still as a statue, even after Naegi yelled himself hoarse.

He wasn’t sure whether to be unnerved or relieved by that. His throat felt like raw sandpaper and even catching his breath hurt going down. He ducked his head, hiding his burning eyes and weakness. Honestly, even though he’d always heard people say that expressing yourself was healthy, Naegi didn’t feel much better. He felt worse actually, as he started to remember what he had just said to _Komaeda_.  

Komaeda reached over and grabbed his shoulder. With his other hand, he brushed a lock of hair away from Naegi’s eyes. “You don’t need be embarrassed, Naegi-kun. Just let it out.”

Naegi lifted his chin, but only enough to view the bottom of Komaeda’s chin. If he looked at the other’s face, he might start crying. “Why am I even talking to you? You don’t care. You just watched.”

“If it’s bothering you, of course I’m going to care. But Naegi-kun, what you’re saying about me, that isn’t really fair.” Naegi flinched as Komaeda’s fingers traced the curve of his knee.

Naegi took a deep breath and took the bait. “Why not?”

Komaeda smiled widely, eyes glittering with something he couldn’t read.

“Because you just sat there and watched, too.”             

“. . . What?”

The Luckster shrugged. “If you remember what happened to that prisoner so clearly, then you must remember what you were doing, too. You were in the chair, remember? You were watching. Me and Tsumiki-san were right there next to you.”

“That wasn’t . . . Th-that’s not true!” His arms were numb and beginning to prickle. “That’s not what happened!”

“So, you’re saying you ran up there and tried to pull the knife out of his hands? Because I don’t remember that happening.” Komaeda said that cheerfully, and the chill spread up Naegi’s arms and froze his very soul. “I don’t remember you doing anything other than sitting there.”

“ _I tried! You didn’t let me!_ ”

“No, you didn’t,” Komaeda said. “Naegi-kun, sometimes when somebody is carrying a lot of guilt with them, their mind starts playing tricks and makes up false memories. You’ve been under a lot of stress and guilt these last few days –”

“No, that’s not it!” Naegi shook his head wildly, eyes tightly closed. Komaeda was wrong. He was wrong. _He was wrong_!

“Just how hard do you think you tried?”

“ _I tried_!” he screamed again. “You wouldn’t let me move. You wouldn’t let me help him –”

“Alright, let’s go with that story,” Komaeda said, cutting him off. “Let’s pretend you did try to help him and I stopped you. You would have tried your hardest to get to him, right? You would have fought me, right?”

“I . . .”

“Look at me, Naegi-kun.”

Naegi opened his eyes. While he struggled to form proper words, Komaeda slipped off his hoodie and let it pool on the ground. He took off his shirt next and dropped it, so that he was bare-chested before his audience.

“Hmm . . . No scratches.” Komaeda dragged his fingers over his arms, examining them before switching his focus to his chest. “No bite marks. No bruises. Well, there’s still the ones from Pekoyama-san, but that has nothing to do with your theory. It looks like the evidence is against you.”

He was shaking so much his teeth were starting to chatter. His eyes shut again. “I didn’t . . . That’s not . . .”

Even with his eyes closed, Naegi could feel Komaeda lean in. When the Luckster next spoke, he could feel the air warm. “I don’t mean to question you – I always feel terrible when I make you doubt yourself – but Naegi-kun, do you have any evidence that you _did_ try.”

“I . . . I don’t know . . .”

“I mean even if you did, the evidence seems to be suggesting that you didn’t fight very hard. Right?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you don’t. And the reason is that it didn’t happen the way you’ve been saying,” Komaeda said.

“I tried . . . I thought . . . I tried to help him . . .”

“Are you sure about that?”

He didn’t know anymore. Komaeda was wrong. But he was right. He . . . he couldn’t remember. Kuzuryu told the prisoner to take up the knife, and Naegi had tried to help . . . no, he hadn’t. He’d sat there. He’d watched? No, he hadn’t. He’d been staring into space. But he hadn’t been helping. He’d been sitting there. He hadn’t helped the prisoner. He _could_ have helped him. He hadn’t tried hard enough.  He could have saved him. Why . . . ? Why hadn’t he? Why had he been so selfish! He could have done more.

“This really has been eating away at you, hasn’t it?”

Everything hurt. Naegi’s chest tightened, crushing his ribs. His heart ached. The lights were too bright and they stung. He didn’t resist when Komaeda cradled his chin and lifted his head. The older teen’s face looked like a smudge to his watery vision.

“Naegi-kun, after that happened, when you stopped talking to everyone, what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Naegi whispered. “I couldn’t think about anything. Every time I tried, I heard things. Or I saw it again. I didn’t want to live it again, so I laid there and didn’t think until I could make it stop.”

Something pounded in his ears. He felt faint. ( _Why was it so cold?)_ Komaeda watched him; his blurry appearance left the Luckster’s thoughts unknown. Naegi barely had any mind for them anyways. He wrapped his arms around himself. He didn’t know where else to put them.

Suddenly, there was heat against him. Komaeda’s open hand lay on his back, rubbing. At some point, the older Luckster had abandoned his cross-legged poise to crawl over to him. He folded back into a sitting position now, taking Naegi with him. Naegi felt barely conscious, but he was faintly aware that he was in Komaeda’s lap, chin snugly fitting around the shoulder, completely reliant on the other to stay upright.

Komaeda spoke to him softly. “Shh, it’s okay . . . It’s not your fault. You didn’t know any better. But you need to make this right, Naegi-kun. Otherwise, it’s not fair to them.”

“. . . H-how?”

“By turning this into fuel for hope.” Komaeda’s hand curled into a fist against his back. “You let them die deep in despair, and that was wrong of you. You have to make things right again. They wanted to help bring hope back to the world, so that’s what you need to do. Let their sacrifice be your stepladder. Take it, and let it make you stronger. Carry them with you like you carry your classmates. Come back to _hope_.”

“I don’t. . . I can’t just . . .”

“You can do it,” Komaeda urged. “I’ll be right here to guide and support you. I just need you to cooperate with me, okay? I can take you there. We can right your wrongs and make it up to them.”

“I . . .”

He felt like he was in a haze. Komaeda’s cheek pressed against his. The hard point of his knee digging into his leg was the only sensation letting him know he wasn’t dreaming.

“Don’t let their deaths be in vain. Make it mean something. They died _for_ you. You owe them that much, don’t you?”

“I . . .”

~~this wasn’t right~~

Komaeda moved his head back. He held Naegi’s head in place, a hand on either cheek, making sure they looked each other full in the face. “Naegi-kun . . . you swore you would bring hope back to the world, didn’t you? You promised that to your classmates, both living and dead. You’re not going to break that promise, are you? That would be cruel.”

“I . . .”

~~this was wrong~~

“Naegi-kun, are you going to take responsibility for your actions? Are you going to keep your promises and accept the responsibility of Hope?”

“I . . .”

~~he didn’t know what to do anymore.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, at the beginning of the chapter, the Future Foundation wasn't saying Naegi was dead. They were simply admitting he is not working with them.


	26. The Rally

He was pathetic.

It was the kind of statement Asahina might have slapped him for, but she couldn’t see him right now. She didn’t know he was curled up in the lap of his kidnapper. She couldn’t see the shiny tear trails that ran down his face, or how he had burrowed into the crook of Komaeda’s neck (he wasn’t sure when he had started crying). Surely, she would have had something to say about how he clung to the older Luckster with his arms locked around him. Or maybe she would have been stopped by the glazed look in his eyes, and the slackness of his face. Maybe instead, she would have approached Kirigiri out of concern.

But Kirigiri wasn’t here, and neither was Asahina. It was only Naegi and Komaeda in this cramped, bare room. The door was closed, and they were cut off from the world. Time didn’t exist here. The light never dimmed.  Even their shadows on the wall were still as Komaeda soaked in his ward’s affection and Naegi did nothing at all.

How pathetic.

“Naegi-kun, what are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” he said tonelessly. It was hard enough to maintain his grip on Komaeda and not topple over. What else did he have room to think about?

“Are you going into another Hope Coma?” Komaeda asked. “I know I wasn’t much help last time, but this time will be different. After all, I’m going to take charge of my responsibilities now!”

Naegi didn’t respond.

He was already halfway to that position, so Komaeda opted to carry him over his shoulder. All he had to do was shift Naegi up a little, and then he was slung over Komaeda, still only semi-responsive.

“This is probably a good time for you to lie down,” Komaeda said. “We’ll go back to your room. Nobody will bother us there.”

Naegi didn’t answer. He turned his head until Komaeda’s hoodie started to poke him in the eye.

The outside corridor passed him by in a blur of greyed-out colour. He lost track of how long they’d been walking, or where they were. In the silence, his last conversation with Komaeda came back to him. It was easier to think clearly when his kidnapper wasn’t staring him down and whispering into his ear. Komaeda was wrong. He’d tried to make them stop. He hadn’t sat there and watched.

But had he really tried to help? He . . . he couldn’t quite remember what he had and hadn’t done anymore. And . . . and he could have done more, right? If he was really the Ultimate Hope, shouldn’t he have been able to save them? Of course, that was a big ‘if’ he was considering. He hadn’t felt much like Hope lately. He certainly hadn’t done much to be worthy of that name.

He thought no more.

(He was pathetic)

“Makoto?”

Komaeda stopped mid-step. Naegi could feel the sigh pass through his body before the Luckster turned to greet the Nurse.

“Makoto! Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Komaeda said. Seemingly unnerved by the way Tsumiki charged them, he backed up a step. “It’s just a Hope Coma.”

But Tsumiki only heard one word.

“ _A coma?!_ That’s not healthy at all!”

“No, no! I think it’s just a Hope Coma. I get them too, sometimes. Like after my parents died and the plane crashed –”

“It’s not healthy for you either!” Tsumiki said. “He needs to be taken to the infirmary.”

“Tsumiki-san, I know my opinion is worthless, but he’s really okay –”

But even if it hadn’t been Naegi that they were discussing, the fact was that Tsumiki had locked onto a patient and there was no stopping her.

“He needs medical attention. Oh, he’s been eating so little . . . It’s my fault. I should have done something earlier.”

“. . . If you really insist, I guess I can’t say no.”

As they turned away from the path to Naegi’s room and toward the infirmary, Naegi wondered if he should say something. . .

But then he realized he no longer cared what they did to him.

Tsumiki darted into the medical center before Komaeda, and pulled the covers down on one of the waiting beds so hard, she nearly flung them onto the floor. Quickly, Naegi found himself in a soft bed with thick covers tucked in around him, and Tsumiki’s hand on his forehead. The Nurse was biting her lip. Naegi half-expected her to start shaking like a Chihuahua.

“He doesn’t have a fever. Komaeda-kun, can you bring the cart over?”

For the first time since they had left that empty room, Naegi felt something: fear. The last time he’d seen that cart, it had been on that terrifying broadcast. As Komaeda wheeled it over, his eyes desperately search for any syringes. And syringes there were, on the middle shelf stacked in a neat case –

But Tsumiki only grabbed the stethoscope and pressed its cold metal surface to his chest.  She held it there above his heart, moved it to a couple of other locations, and then swapped it out for a blood pressure cuff. She measured that, checked his eyes and even the inside of his mouth, and then touched his face with something like worry. Naegi didn’t react much during it, doing only what he was told to do.

“He seems healthy but, um, he’s showing clear signs of dehydration. Komaeda-kun, have you been tracking his weight like I asked?”

Komaeda hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Tsumiki seemed to shrink into herself. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to take advantage of you and make you do my work.”

“No, don’t say that,” Komaeda said. “It’s my fault. I was supposed to be looking after him. I should have known I couldn’t be trusted to handle such an important task alone.”

“No, it’s not your fault. He was my patient and I was supposed to take care of him . . .”

“Please stop. Both of you.” Naegi clenched his jaw. He hated hearing them talk like that, hated how it made him feel guilty, made him pity them.

They instantly forgot about blaming themselves, and set to cooing over him. Komaeda was grinning, gripping his hand like Naegi had woken from a true coma. Tsumiki was making comforting sounds and telling him not to overexert himself. That said, Naegi’s small reaction seemed to have given her new strength. She ordered Komaeda to take him to the scale while she grabbed his medical chart. Komaeda listened, holding Naegi by his arm to support him. He guided Naegi listless step by listless step, and then helped him up the small curb to the scale.

Tsumiki returned, glanced at the scale, and then immediately snapped her gaze to the chart. Her pronounced frown wavered at the edges, like she was about to cry.

“Makoto, you didn’t put yourself on a diet, right?”

Makoto shook his head. He almost wanted to laugh.

“In that case, with the amount of weight he’s lost . . . Oh, I knew this was going to happen!”

“He’s not eating enough?” Komaeda asked.

Tsumiki shook her head. Her knuckles were turning white as she gripped the clipboard.

“Okay, so what do we do?” Komaeda sked.

Tsumiki seemed a little surprised he was deferring to her, but she shook it off quickly. “Let’s get him back into a bed. I want to put him on some fluids.”

Apparently, both of them thought that small distance was too much for him. Komaeda carried him over, setting him down with exaggerated gentleness like he was a glass figurine that already had a few cracks. Naegi kept his eyes on Tsumiki, still barely reacting even when she pierced his arm with the IV needle. He stared at it. If anything, he felt confused.

“He should stay overnight,” Tsumiki said.

Komaeda laughed a little and ruffled Naegi’s hair. “Guess I should drag a bed over, then.”

Yet when Komaeda stood to do exactly that, Tsumiki got to her feet, too. She held an arm out in Komaeda’s direction, as if she wanted to grab him.

“Umm, Komaeda-kun, I don’t think you should stay here. Not with your immune system . . .”

Komaeda fidgeted a little, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “He’s in a very fragile spot, Tsumiki-san. I’d hate to leave him alone right now.”

“I’ll be here,” Tsumiki said. “I’ll stay with him overnight. I d-don’t mind.”

Naegi glanced up at her, considered the two options he had and . . . well the decision was rather easy to make.

“It’s okay, Komaeda-kun,” he croaked out. “She’s the Ultimate Nurse. I’ll be fine. And uh, I don’t know what’s up with your immune system, but I don’t want you to get sick.”

Komaeda’s eyes were doing that bulging thing that happened whenever his desires conflicted with his instincts to obey the Ultimates. He rocked back and forth on his heels, almost like a stereotypical crazy man in an asylum.

“Ah, well, if you insist. I’d hate to disappoint any of you.” Komaeda stood by Naegi’s bedside. Unlike usual, Komaeda made no move to touch him and he didn’t resort to any of his gooey farewells. He just stood there and gave Naegi a hard stare –

And Naegi’s nerves snapped tight as he suddenly woke up. Was. . . was Komaeda mad at him again? Had he expected Naegi to back him up? What would happen now that he hadn’t? He doubted Komaeda would throw him into an execution for this. It wouldn’t make much sense – although it hadn’t last time either. But what if somewhere down the road, Komaeda didn’t back him up when he needed it in order to teach him a lesson? Ultimate Despair was crazy and though Komaeda was as well, at least sometimes he was willing to step in . . .

“Komaeda-kun?” Tsumiki looked between the two of them, confused.

Komaeda blinked for the first time in a while. “I’ll drop by later, Naegi-kun.”

A great pressure lifted off his chest once Komaeda passed through that door. He inhaled deeply, savouring the cool air. Tsumiki sat by his pillow, still frowning. Her fingers were locked together, and she didn’t look directly at him when she spoke, but a spot just beyond his head.

“Makoto, is s-something wrong? You became awfully pale a little while ago.”

“It’s nothing,” Naegi said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Naegi had said that softly, feeling too exhausted to speak any louder, but Tsumiki still shut her eyes as if he had yelled at her. She reached over and fluffed his pillow, an action that Naegi couldn’t help but see as an undeserved apology. Afterwards, she took the clipboard with his medical chart again, and started asking about his eating habits. He answered, not exactly sure what she was looking for. Whatever it was though, he didn’t seem to be providing it as each of his answer seemed to bring her closer to closer to tears.

“I’m sorry!” she suddenly squealed.

He didn’t get that either.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s . . . it’s just . . .” She was holding a corner of the blanket up to her chin, and looked like she was about to start tearing at it with her teeth. “It’s my job to take care of everyone here, and I’ve done a horrible job. I’m such a terrible person. I’m sorry!”

“Mikan, you’re not a terrible person,” he said. Despite how dull his voice was, it was steady. “It’s not like I was going around telling everyone I wasn’t eating. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Why haven’t you been eating?”

She stared at him with such big, pained eyes that it was impossible not to answer.

He said, “I don’t do it on purpose. I just keep losing my appetite.”

“I see.”

He wondered if she really did, if she had connected the dots between their treatment of him and his poor appetite.

“If I ask a Monokuma to bring something now, w-will you eat it?” she asked before suddenly backtracking. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to . . .”

“It’s okay,” Naegi said. “You’re right. I really haven’t been eating enough.”

He forced himself to smile at her, and she gave him a tiny smile back.

His smile died.

Why was this happening? Why was she suddenly acting so . . . not like a Despair? This was not that Tsumiki who had found him sleeping in Komaeda’s room, or the Tsumiki that had stitched up his wounds afterwards. This was the Tsumiki he had seen in the yearbook: that reserved, trembling wallflower. This Tsumiki he was interacting with now, this was what she must have been like before she fell into despair. Why was he seeing this now?

“Okay, I’ll c-call a Monokuma. Try to eat as much as you can. You need the nutrition and . . .” Then, just as he was relaxing, Tsumiki started to giggle. “. . . and a growing boy needs lots of nutrition. How else will you grow big and strong?”

She dragged that last word out, trailing her finger down his face as she hunched over and got way too close to him. And Naegi . . . Naegi understood. He forced himself not to turn away, but instead let saliva pool in his mouth and took a deep breath in –

Sure enough, some of that liquid went down the wrong way. Tsumiki reeled back as he coughed; that sickening, lovey-dovey expression had been replaced by shock and nervousness.  She reached for the cart, mumbling to herself that she must have missed something as she started listening to his lungs. Naegi knew she wouldn’t find anything, but that wasn’t the point. He understood now. Her title had been the Ultimate Nurse. For years, that had been what defined her. To Tsumiki, that duty had made up the _real_ her. So when she was here with him – genuinely wishing to take care of a patient instead of hurting them, and not thinking about how she wanted to _raise_ him – she was herself again.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, Mikan,” he said. “It was nothing. I just choked on some spit.”

Tsumiki immediately tore her hand away from his chest. “I w-wasn’t implying that you deceived me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Why did all these situations keep spiralling out of control! “No, that’s not what I’m thinking-!”

“You looked surprised,” she murmured. “Y-you probably didn’t think I was so weak. I don’t blame you for thinking I am. I’m . . . I’m not like . . . _her_. Not like my beloved at all.”

“Mikan . . .”

But she was already gone. She hugged herself, swaying gently from side to side.

“My beloved was a queen. She was a goddess. But did you know what, Makoto?”

She suddenly sprawled out on the bed beside him, facing him. If Makoto had turned over, she probably would have spooned him.

“Even though she was so amazing, she said she still needed _me_. I was useful to her. That’s why she loved me. She noticed me, Makoto! Spreading despair made me useful. She told me that we were bringing a new world order, and that everyone needed it. It made me useful to everyone. She said . . . she said there would be lots of patients afterwards and they would all need me!”

Some neuron kept firing, begging him to make a connection. Naegi blinked, only a little disturbed by her giggles and the way she threaded her fingers in his hair while her lips grazed the top of his forehead. He could see despair-swirls deep within her eyes, totally in contrast with her wide Cheshire-cat smile.

He opened his mouth, and his answer came out of nowhere.

“Of course she needed you, Mikan. Everyone does. I need you, too.”

Those words felt dirty coming out. He hated the implication behind them. That said, he couldn’t deny they had an effect. Tsumiki  hadn’t moved since had had spoken. Her pupils had frozen in a crazed dilation. He decided to wait it out.

“You . . . need me?” she said.

Why was that so surprising? Hadn’t Tsumiki basically barged into his life and declared herself to be his new mother? With all that stuff they kept saying about him being a child, wouldn’t that conclusion have been an obvious next step (even if it wasn’t true)? Yet Tsumiki’s mouth had opened in shock and the fingers in his hair were trembling. For whatever reason, that conclusion hadn’t been obvious to her.

He cocked his head, and chose to go with his instinct.

“Mikan . . .” He carefully removed her hand from his hair, and brought it back to her chest. “You don’t have to try to be my mother to get close to me.”

The spell broke. Tsumiki wrenched away from him, and shot to her feet. Her skin was pasty, lips thin and trembling.

“That wasn’t . . . no . . . th-this is for my beloved. I need to help her. I need to be useful to her. If I don’t, sh-she’ll . . . she won’t . . . she won’t need me anymore . . .”

_But that’s not really what you wanted. You wanted her to like you. You wanted her to care about you._

“I still need you,” he said. “If I need you, then that means Enoshima-san needs you too, right? So, you don’t have to keep worrying about that.”

Tsumiki swayed a little. Her hand found its way to the cart, and she started to wrap her fingers around one of the syringes. She mumbled to herself so quietly he almost didn’t hear.

“Maybe I should paralyse you. Then you’ll always need me.”

That scared him much less than it should have. Hardly at all, actually.

“You don’t need to do that,” Naegi said. “I mean, I have terrible luck anyways. I’m always tripping or falling or bumping into things. So, it would be really nice to know someone who can tell me what to do when that happens. If we had been classmates, I probably would have ended up calling you every week.”

“Every week?” she repeated.

“Sure. Even if I wasn’t injured, I’d call to hang out. I try to spend most of my free time with my friends anyways.” He smiled. What he was saying now sounded so much better to him than all that ‘needing’ business.

Tsumiki watched him raptly, soaking up his words like a child receiving praise.

“Mikan, what I’m trying to say is you don’t have to worry about being useful to me. I mean, I probably will ask for help now and then, but I wouldn’t care if you said no. That’s not how I work. I’m not here to use anyone. You don’t need to worry about me throwing you away.”

She stared at him.

Her shoulders shook.

She started to laugh.

“Hehehehehehe. . .”

She was still laughing when she fell to her knees. Still laughing when she held herself and collapsed onto her side. She laughed and laughed even as she seemed to writhe in pain.

“You . . . you  . . . it _hurts_!” Her eyes shot open. They were blazing red, and those swirls he saw before had risen to the surface and taken over. “Why does it . . .? Enoshima-san needs me. I need her! _I need my beloved!_ ”

What was he supposed to do now?! Tsumiki was having some kind of despair-panic attack on the floor in front of him, and he had no idea _why_. She was laughing and laughing, and clawing at the ground, and what was he supposed to do-?

“Mikan, I . . . I need you right now!”

The spasms stopped. Her eyes held no pupils as she stared at him, only those swirls.

“I’m . . . I’m actually kind of hungry now,” he said with a weak smile. “Could you call the Monokuma?”

Tsumiki didn’t answer, but she crawled across the floor to the medical cart, and spoke into a walkie talkie. She sat there afterwards, eyes distant, trembling as if about to lapse into another attack . . .

“Uh, Mikan? I’m really sorry, but I’m pretty exhausted right now. Probably from not eating enough.” He forced out a loud laugh to cover up his lies. “When the food comes, do you . . .?”

. . . _Just remember why you’re doing this. Focus on that._

He swallowed his pride.

“ . . . When the food comes, could you feed me?”

Tsumiki blinked.

“O-okay.”

She crawled all the way to his bed, and climbed atop it so she sat beside his pillow. Between that time and the time the Monokuma arrived, she never once took her swirling eyes off him. It warmed his skin like a spotlight, but he forced himself to ignore it.

When the food finally did arrive, her intensity was honestly quite intimidating. She practically rammed the spoon down his throat, and her keen eyes kept track of every movement of muscle. But as time passed and Naegi obediently chewed and swallowed, she calmed down. The despair-swirls vanished, and even the brightness of her red eyes had dimmed. He could tell by her humming, her doting smile, and the way she sometimes combed his hair that she had jumped back into her mothering-despaired personality, but it was better than what he had just seen.

“You’re not a bad person, Mikan,” he whispered.

“Huh?”

_It’s true. Somewhere deep within, past all the despair Enoshima put inside you, that old you is still there. I want to see her again. I want . . ._

_I want . . ._

They were still there. The real 77th class was still there. He believed that.

_I want to help you._

He had to believe that.

 _I want to help all of you_.

( ~~because if he didn’t, he’d end up like them~~ )


	27. The Chef

“. . . And I want you to know that your sacrifices were not in vain. They will help bring about a light bright enough to cleanse the world and bring about the future you wanted. You were . . . you were a stepping-stone for hope, and that is nothing to be ashamed of.”

The words festered in his mouth, and sizzled in his chest like acid. Kneeling at the end of the hospital bed, eyes closed, Komaeda nodded reverently, hands clasped in prayer. The Luckster sighed deeply, like he just drank a refreshing glass of ice water. He opened his eyes, and seemed to look right through Naegi.

“Beautiful,” the older teen said.

Naegi wanted to disagree. The eulogy Komaeda had made him read wasn’t beautiful in the slightest.  The words themselves might not have been too bad, but Naegi knew what Komaeada _wanted_ them to say, and it was disgusting – how could you brush off someone’s death like that? People weren’t stepping-stones. They weren’t object and tools to be used and discarded on a whim.

Naegi had said nothing, but Komaeda seemed to read his thoughts regardless. Using the bed’s frame as support, Komaeda stood and walked over to where Naegi’s head laid upon the pillow. Naegi tucked the blanket closer to himself defensively.

“Didn’t that make you feel better?” Komaeda prodded.

Staring at his covered feet, Naegi answered, “Not really. . .”

“Would you rather say it was all worthless?” Komaeda asked. The question was sharp, yet his smile and voice were friendly. “That they died for absolutely nothing and they didn’t matter? I know I’m being presumptuous, but that seems rather . . . cold.”

“That’s not . . .”

“Then why did they have to die, Naegi-kun?”

“They didn’t,” he said. “There was no reason for it. They shouldn’t have died.”

He glanced at Komaeda and his breath caught. Komaeda was holding something . . . a picture frame. And in the frame, was a picture of the man Kuzuryu had forced to kill himself.

Komaeda thrust the picture into his face. “Tell him that, Naegi-kun. Tell him his death was meaningless. Tell him there was no reason for it.”

When Naegi tried to make noise, only a ratted gasp came out. It was an impossible demand. How could Komaeda expect him to say that? His tongue had grown thick and heavy, nearly impossible to move. The photo’s eyes bored into him, and he could hear the man’s screaming in the background.

“Tell him nobody cared about his death.”

“I care!” Naegi blurted out, Komaeda’s order having loosening his tongue in a way nothing else could.

“Then make it mean something,” Komaeda said. “Don’t let it be just another footnote in history.”

Komaeda put the picture frame down, replacing the dead’s haunting stare with his own hypnotizing one.

“He died for you, Naegi-kun. That’s why he was here, after all. He was trying to help you. He was willing to die for that. And if he was willing to die for you . . . is it really that bad for him to be a stepping-stone for your hope? Isn’t that what he would have wanted?”

Naegi licked his suddenly dry lips. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t need to answer me now,” Komaeda said. “You have all night to think about it.”

From where she was watching them, Tsumiki piped up. “Um, actually it would be better if he slept.”

Komaeda lifted his hands in surrender. “Of course! I meant that as an expression. I’ll leave him once again to your excellent care, Tsumiki-san.”

He swiped his thumb over Naegi’s cheek once, mumbled his farewells, and then departed.

“Is there anything you need?” Tsumiki asked while she tucked the blanket around him. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll stay right here and be awake all night!”

“You’re not going to sleep?” Naegi asked. “That can’t be very healthy. I mean, isn’t it a bad thing if you’re trying to take care of me while you’re exhausted?”

Tsumiki laughed. “I’m a nurse, sweetie! We take overnight shifts all the time. But it’s so sweet for you to be worried about me.”

Oh, he was dealing with _this_ Mikan. Mentally, his thoughts shrugged. Might as well continue the attack from yesterday.

“Of course I’m worried, Mikan. I care about you.”

Tsumiki’s face stuttered, like a buffering video caught between two scenes. Still, she managed to keep her composure and said, “I brought you a present.”

. . . That could mean so many things.

But it was a good present this time. She reached down under the bed, and then pulled up a stuffed rabbit. And this one was _not_ modeled after Monokuma, either! Below the glass surface, one of its eyes were cracked down the center. The rabbit’s fur was a faded grey, and an even more faded red bow had been tied around its neck. It smelt like mothballs. He took it and held it close to him anyways.

“Thank you, Mikan. It’s . . .”

He hesitated. He had held it out in front of him so he could look at it better, but the more he looked at it, the odder it made him feel. It felt . . . it felt familiar somehow.

“Mikan, this is from my old room.”

“It was one of the only things we were able to save,” she said sadly.

“What about the photos?”

“I think they all burned up.”

Of course they did. His luck would ensure that the things he wanted to save would be destroyed first. His mood considerably dampened, he let his head drop onto the pillow. The rabbit lay across his chest, one of his arms looped over it.

“Now, just close your eyes and count backwards from one hundred, okay?” With each due count, Tsumiki stroked his hair. It would have been soothing, if she wasn’t crazy and this wasn’t Ultimate Despair. Yet he had to admit that it was probably safer here than with Komaeda and his dangerous new attitude.

Rabbit clenched to his chest, he closed his eye s and slowed his breathing. With all the sitting around and . . . coma-ing he’d been doing lately, he hadn’t expected sleep to come easy. However, once he closed his eyes he found them hard to open again, and they dragged downwards whenever he tried. He curled up, Tsumiki keeping watch over him as he fell asleep.

* * *

He woke drenched with sweat.

Tsumiki’s hands were on his shoulders as she shook him awake, but in his half-dream haze, he could only see Ultimate Despair. He screamed. He twisted, and his foot shot out, catching her and knocking her to the floor. He rolled in the other direction, desperate to move, desperate to escape –

“Makoto!”

He stopped. Blood dripped down his arm from where he had nearly torn out the IV in his struggles.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tsumiki wailed. Even so, her apologies didn’t stop her from launching across the bed, grabbing him, and pushing him back down. “You were screaming in your sleep, so I tried to wake you.”

“Y-yeah?” Naegi dragged a hand through his damp hair.

She asked, “What were you dreaming about?”

Naegi honestly couldn’t remember, but he could guess.

“The same thing I did yesterday.” _And the days before that._

“Oh, Makoto.”

Next thing he knew, his back was lifted off the bed. Tsumiki had engulfed him in a smothering embrace, rocking him back and forth gently. Naegi put one hand on her shoulder, but otherwise couldn’t bring himself to do much else.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having nightmares, sweetie?”

He wanted to laugh bitterly. “Why would I? So you can erase my memory of what happened?”

Tsumiki frowned.

“ . . . Is that what you want me to do?” she asked.

. . . She wasn’t serious, was she? He looked closer. No, she definitely was. Enoshima had done it before to his class, but it had never occurred to him that Ultimate Despair was capable of memory wiping, too. He was going to have to be careful. There was absolutely _no way_ he could give Tsumiki or anyone permission to wipe even the most traumatic, most horrible things from his mind. If he gave them permission to start, then who knew where they would end?

So, he told her, “No. It was a rhetorical question.”

Tsumiki smiled a little, and the red in her eyes brightened. She asked, “Do you know what helps my young patients sleep at night?”

Oh boy. He braced himself. What terrible thing was she about to suggest now -?

“Milk and cookies!”

. . . It was such an ordinary, non-despairful answer that he instantly accepted.

“Okay! Let’s go for a little walk.”

By the time Tsumiki reached for his hand, he had already half-lifted it in anticipation. Tsumiki _loved_ leading him to places by holding his hand. Even if it was a place he had been many times before and didn’t need any help to find, and if her other hand was already preoccupied with rolling along the IV stand. Except as it turned out, she wasn’t leading him to the cafeteria; when she had said a little walk, she meant a little walk across the room. Naegi stared at the wheelchair she had led him to, and then glanced at her.

“ . . . Do I have to?”

“You’re my patient. I can’t let you overexert yourself!”

Naegi sighed, and flopped into the wheelchair.

It was actually kind of fun. Despite all the accidents that his luck brought upon him, Naegi had never been seriously injured enough to need a wheelchair. He’d always wondered what it was like to ride in one though. If he sat back and forgot where he was and who was pushing him, then it was easy to pretend he was being wheeled about in a real hospital. He was still in that mindset when she rolled him through the cafeteria and into the kitchen, so seeing Hanamura there came as a bit of a shock.

“Eh? What’s this?” the Chef asked. He stood at a counter, balancing a knife above a cutting board with assorted vegetables.

“It’s okay,” Tsumiki said. “He’s just a little dehydrated and undernourished.”

“That so?” The knife made a swishing sound as Hanamura flicked it in front of him . . . wasn’t it dangerous to scratch your chin with a knife? “Should I whip up one of my world-famous, super-nutritious casseroles? Guaranteed to fulfill almost all of your mineral and vitamin needs!”

“Just some milk and cookies is fine,” Tsumiki said.

“Over there.” Hanamura pointed with his knife. “Are you sure you don’t want to put Naegi-kun on a special, weight-gain diet?”

“No thanks,” Naegi said. He looked to Tsumiki for confirmation.

“I don’t think we need to go that far yet,” she said.

Much like Soda’s workshop, Hanamura’s kitchen was a massive space. At least a dozen lines of fryers, stoves and cook stations filled the area, and the walls were lined with fridges and cabinets. Hanamura did not work alone either. Several Monokuma soldiers – no robots, he noticed – stood prepping food or fixing simple dishes. They acted like assembly line robots, fixed in their actions and movements – it was rather eerie, to say the least. However, they weren’t the only souls present. There were a few more people. And they didn’t have helmets.

He tugged on Tsumiki’s sleeve. “Mikan, who are those people?”

“Hmm? Oh, those are just workers. You don’t need to worry about them.”

“There are people who work for you?” _Willingly_ , he wanted to add. But he didn’t think he could bring that bit of incredulity to life.

“Of course. Despair is something anybody can appreciate!”

He forced himself not to think about it. He couldn’t think about it. There were plenty of reasons they could be here. Ultimate Despair could have taken their families hostage, or put a gun to their heads and given them no choice. There were plenty of explanations besides Tsumiki’s implications. He didn’t want to think about that though, so he focused instead on the cookies that just came into view. They were Monokumas – of course they were Monokumas – but they did look rather delicious, and he really, really liked the thought of biting off the bear’s head. Five of them, he noticed, seemed to be separated from the rest. He saw no reason why.

“What do they taste like?” he wondered aloud as he reached for one of the five. It was a full-body Monokuma cookie of course, just for the pleasure of making his fantasy a reality. The icing upon it was hard, reminding him of a gingerbread cookie.

_Thunk!_

Naegi’s mouth hung open, waiting for him to plop the cookie inside. Except the cookie was no longer in his hand. It was on the wall. Stuck in place by a butcher’s knife. The party responsible, the Ultimate Chef, still had his arm out in the end of his throwing motion. Tsumiki looked at him curiously, not at all concerned that the Chef _had just thrown a knife at them_.

. . . Why did Ultimates tend to be so crazy?

“Avril Lavigne!” the Chef swore. “Not those ones!”

Though the distance was short, Hanamura was still red-faced by the time he ran over to them. He gathered up the other, separated four cookies, and hunched over them protectively.

“These ones are poisoned,” Hanamura said. “You two can’t eat them!”

Naegi asked, “Why?”

Both Ultimates gave him a strange look.

“. . . Because poison will kill you?” Hanamura said.

“No, not that. Why are they poisoned?”

“We’re going to let the army have them tomorrow,” Hanamura said. “They’ll be so happy to finally get to eat sweets . . . and then suddenly five of them will fall over dead! Hahahahaha,The rest will have to live with the despair of knowing not even their meals can be trusted.”

Tsumiki’s eyes lit up. “Do you think I’ll get a new patient?”

Hanamura shrugged. “Who knows? I’m not an expert with poisons. Of course, if you’re looking for a patient, you don’t need to go far. I’m feeling rather . . . overheated. Maybe you should take off my clothes and –”

A cookie flew into Hanamura’s face.

Holding up another cookie threateningly, Tsumiki shrieked, “Not in front of Makoto!”

Hanamura brushed crumbs off his shirt. “But I heard you during your show. And Pekoyama-san told me you . . .”

“ _No! I won’t let you!_ ”

Naegi couldn’t see Tsumiki’s face right now, but apparently, it was rather frightening. For Hanamura suddenly shielded his head and started to run, Tsumiki hot on his heels. Naegi watched the proceedings, his budding emotions like those of exasperation.

He looked back at the poisoned cookies. After checking once more that Tsumiki and Hanamura were preoccupied, he quietly replaced them with regular cookies, and stuffed the poisoned ones in a nearby trashcan.

Tsumiki was sweating a little when she returned. She immediately rushed over to him, making a high-pitched whining sound.

“Oh, Makoto, I hope you didn’t listen to anything he said.”

Yes, this was a good time to lie.

“I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Tsumiki smiled radiantly. She ducked down then, and whispered into his ear.

“Never eat or drink anything he offers only to you.”

Naegi could only slump back in his wheelchair. Fantastic.

He had expected Tsumiki to wheel him back to the infirmary once they secured their payload, but apparently the Nurse was content with eating in the cafeteria. It was a little odd that they were the only two in such a big, dark space, but he honestly preferred this to the overwhelming attention he sometimes got from the Despairs at meals.

Naegi dipped a cookie in the warm milk. This was nice. This was cozy.

Oh, when did Hanamura get here?

“Hi,” Naegi said, trying to be polite. “Did you make these?”

Hanamura sighed heavily. It was exaggerated, in Naegi’s opinion. “A quality chef such as myself wasting my talent on this . . . Yes. Yes, I did.”

“It’s not a waste,” Naegi said automatically. “I mean baking is still cooking, right?”

Hanumura’s eyes widened.

Yeah, that had been a mistake.

“Sacre bleu!” The force of the Chef’s exclamation nearly had his hat flying off his head. “Mistaking baking for cooking? It’s . . . it’s unforgivable!”

And now he was nearly frothing at the mouth. Naegi shifted closer to Tsumiki, watching Hanamura nervously.

“Cooking and baking are not the same thing!” Hanamura said. “Cooking is an art. It’s taking all those little ingredients together and making something beautiful. It’s the sweat that goes into browning it just right, adding just the right amount of seasoning to make it blossom. It’s _vision_ . . . That is not baking. Baking is following instructions and shoving it into an oven. When people group the Ultimate Chef and the Ultimate Baker together, or – heaven forbid – the Ultimate Confectioner, it’s  . . . it’s so despairful.”

Really? _Really_? He was going to get despair from _this_?

“But, I shall forgive you, Naegi-kun.” Hanamura stood with his chin raised, as if Naegi should be on his knees thanking him for his forgiveness. “That said, I can’t let such a horrific insult go . . . How about I show you what cooking is all about? Private lessons! Just you and me over a hot stove. That seems suitable, don’t you think?”

Naegi wasn’t sure why Hanamura suddenly started combing his hair.

He shrugged. “That seems –”

But Tsumiki slapped her hand over his mouth. “No!”

Hanamura said, “No? I suppose I can’t blame you for trying to keep such a young, strapping fellow to yourself. I bet you . . . _EEK!_ ”

Tsumiki scowled deeply, and then Naegi winced as she ran the wheelchair over Hanamura’s foot a second time.

“I’m sorry Makoto, but could you please grab your food? We’re going back to the infirmary,” Tsumiki said. In the background, Hanamura howled and hopped about on his uninjured foot.

Naegi nodded and obeyed quickly. Going by Mikan’s reaction, it looked like he had just dodged a bullet.

On the way back, he decided to speak. “Mikan? I’m not too sure what happened, but thanks for looking out for me back there.”

She giggled a little. “Of course I would. You’re my little Makoto!”

. . . Right.

“It’s nice to know you got my back,” he continued. “I don’t know how much help someone like me could be, but I’ll try to watch out for you, too.”

“You don’t need to do that, silly. You’re the baby of the family.”

 _By one year!_ he wanted to protest. He didn’t though. Because firstly, it wouldn’t make much difference. Secondly, he didn’t want that to get back to Komaeda. For all he knew, the Luckster would do something ridiculous like start trying to convince everyone he was a newborn.

“Did Enoshima look out for you?” he asked.

The wheelchair’s pace suddenly hiccupped.

“N-no,” Tsumiki said, all quiet and shy. “She shouldn’t have to waste her time on someone as worthless as me. All I wanted was for her to notice me . . . and sometimes she did. And sometimes she did even more! Enoshima-san was so kind . . .”

“That doesn’t sound kind to me,” he said.

Tsumiki swatted him on the head. “Don’t talk about your mother like that!”

He decided this time he would ignore that remark. “Did she ever say thank you?”

“Why would she . . .?”

“Even after everything you did for her? That doesn’t seem very nice.”

Tsumiki watched him suspiciously, on the verge of anger, but she didn’t seem able to speak.

“Mikan, I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but I think Enoshima-san was only using you –”

_Crack._

Naegi shakily lifted a hand to his red cheek. He looked up, and flinched upon noticing Tsumiki had her hand ready to slap him again.

“How . . . how dare you?! My beloved did not . . . she would _never_. How could you say such a thing? She loved me! I was special to her, I know I was!”

Deep swirls spun in her eyes, taking over. Tsumiki was breathing heavily, and Naegi was afraid she might actually pass out.

“You’re wrong! _You’re wrong!_ She loved me! Stop telling such awful lies!”

“Mikan . . .”

And the Nurse fell to her knees, sobbing against the back of Naegi’s wheelchair. “Why would you say that? It’s wrong. She loved me. She accepted me. She forgave me. She always forgives me.”

“Forgives you?” Naegi twisted in his chair. “For what?”

For a second, her sobs stilled. For a second, she looked up and Naegi drew back, horrified by what he saw there.

“For _existing_ ,” Tsumiki purred. “She forgave me for existing.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Naegi blurted out. “There’s no reason they need to forgive you for something like that. Anyone who claims that . . . they should be the ones asking you for forgiveness! There’s nothing wrong with you existing. I’m glad you do! And if I hear anyone say that to you. . . I’ll make them apologize myself!”

“Y-you . . . You would . . .? Hah. HahahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

Tsumiki rose, like a bear waking from hibernation. Her red eyes were like lasers as her sights locked on Naegi and her arm lifted –

But the hit never came.

Still laughing hysterically, still with tears streaming down her face, she bolted down the hall and left him alone.

He waited for a while, but she didn’t come back. With a regretful sigh, he set to returning to the infirmary. It was harder than he would have thought, since he also had to bring the IV stand along with him.

(It occurred to him once he was in bed that he could have, you know, _stood_ and pushed them both from there. He didn’t actually need a wheelchair).

Later, in the early morning, soft crying waked him. He blinked blearily, and then looked over. Tsumiki knelt at his bedside, face buried in the comforter. Naegi shook her by the shoulder, and the Nurse sniffled and lifted her head.

“I’m sorry, Makoto. I shouldn’t have hit you or said such mean things to you. Please don’t . . .” Tsumiki choked. “Please don’t hate me anymore!”

Naegi looked at her.

“You’re my friend, Mikan. How could I ever hate you?”


	28. The Double

Although it took him a while, his second attempt at sleep was much more successful. He dozed off with Tsumiki at his side, her fingers entwined with his. If Komaeda or any of the others came during the night, she didn’t tell him, nor did she allow them to wake him. Time passed and outside, the world took on colour. In the infirmary, it remained quiet. The stuffed rabbit was tucked under Naegi’s chin, its ear dangerously close to the drool that dripped from the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t there for very long though. Tsumiki reached over, and gently dabbed at his face with a cloth, careful not to disturb him. Naegi stirred a little, but a few quick strokes of his hair made him settle again. Content, the Nurse leaned back into her chair, continuing her silent vigil.

It was very much peaceful.

So naturally, somebody had to ruin it.

There was no warning. One moment, Tsumiki was wondering if she should tuck the blanket a _little_ tighter, and the next, somebody had kicked the door to the infirmary open.

“Hellooooo, Ultimate Despair! Ibuki is in the house!”

The door was not fully open yet, so Mioda Ibuki immediately kicked it again for good measure.

“Mioda-san!” Tsumiki leapt up from her chair and rushed forward, unaware that it was too late and Naegi was waking behind her. “Please don’t be mad, but . . . could you speak q-quietly. Makoto is sleeping-”

“Oh, Makoto-chan! Where is he? Where is he? I want to squeeze him and tell him how adorable he is!”

“Mioda-san, I really don’t think –”

“Mikan, it’s fine.”

. . . Naegi swore Mioda had been on the other side of the room. Teleportation was not something he had expected an Ultimate to have. It was not something he wanted to worry about. However, he wouldn’t be that surprised if she had just ran that fast. The Ultimate Musician seemed to overflow with energy. She eagerly bounced up and down on her feet, and there seemed to be a slight tremble throughout her body.

“Look! He’s got an ahoge.” Mioda immediately tugged at it. “Do you think we can make him a second one? Then he’d be a perfect fit for Ibuki’s band!”

“Ibuki?” Naegi echoed.

“That’s me!” Mioda said proudly, hands on her hip. Naegi wasn’t sure how, but somehow her nose had become pointy like Pinocchio. “Mioda Ibuki, Ultimate Musician . . . I almost forgot to squeeze you!”

And she did. And it was painful, but somehow pleasant.

“Mikan-chan said you were cute, but she didn’t say how cute. You're like a teddy bear!” Her head turned so sharply that one of her hair’s ‘horns’ nearly cut him. “Is Mahiru-chan here yet? We need lots of pictures!”

“N-no. I don’t think she or Nevermind-san are due to arrive for a while.”

“Ooo, Europe giving them trouble? We should throw a concert and air it over there. I’ll play my favourite song: ‘ _Stop Fighting or You’re All Going to Die!_ ’ Makoto-chan, wanna play the drums?”

Was this for real? Despite the implications behind what she was saying, she was speaking so brightly and energetically – so unlike anyone else in Ultimate Despair – that for a while, he was lost for words.

“. . . I don’t play music?” he finally offered.

Mioda laughed, and poked at his hair again. “You don’t need to know _how_ to play drums. Just listen for Ibuki’s beat and hit ‘em! The Imposter could always show you. When he was all heavy and fun, he knew how to hit them really hard.”

“The Imposter? Who are you talking about?” Naegi asked.

“The Imposter! Really skinny, and . . . uh . . . well nobody knows anything else about him.”

Naegi sat up a little more. The blanket slid down his chest. “How can you only know he’s skinny?”

“Because he’s the Imposter!” Mioda winked, a sparkle gleaming in her other eye.

He still didn’t get it. “Mikan?”

“Umm, she’s referring to the Ultimate Imposter. He’s always pretending to be someone else so –”

Mioda jumped up and away from Naegi’s hospital bed, approaching Tsumiki. “Hey, is he still pretending to be the rich one?”

The rich one?

“Unless he’s changed forms since yesterday . . .” Tsumiki suddenly drew into herself. “I don’t know. I haven’t checked. I’m sorry!”

The . . . rich one?

“Mikan!” Naegi spoke sharper than he meant to, but now wasn’t the time to apologize for that. “What do mean by the rich one? Who is the Imposter pretending to be right now?”

Tsumiki looked away. “Well . . . umm . . . he’s –”

“Togami Byakuya!” Mioda announced cheerfully. “It’s one of his favourites. Ibuki likes it, too; he gets all flustered when you knock off his glasses.”

Togami was . . .

He was . . .

. . . Togami had been an imposter?

“It wasn’t him,” Naegi whispered to himself.

“Whazzat?” Mioda asked, somehow having heard him clearly. “Who isn’t what?”

“Togami. That wasn’t the real him. That was just a fake. He . . . Mikan, he’s not part of Ultimate Despair. He didn’t betray me.”

The moment those words left his mouth, something caught fire in his core. It burned so strong and intense he wondered if they could see it reflected in his eyes. He felt strong, powerful, even just sitting there in a hospital bed. A layer of grim seemed to have been stripped from his thoughts and suddenly, the room was a shade lighter, and the hairs on his arm could feel the minute air currents passing by them. He . . . he had been wrong. He had never been so glad to be wrong!

 _I’m sorry, Togami. I should have known better. I should have had faith in you_.

“Oi! What’s with that weird energy field around Makoto-chan?” Mioda demanded. She was shielding her eyes as if she were in the same room as a sun.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Tsumiki screeched. “But I wasn’t trained to deal with this! Forgive meeeeee!”

Part of the worst day of his life had been a simple misunderstanding. Of _course_ it had been. It was so obvious! He remembered Togami at the final trial, hope and determination burning in his eyes; the power in his voice when he declared he was going to rebuild the mighty Togami Corporation. How could someone like that fail? How could someone with that resolve, that strength and ambition succumb so easily to the whispers of despair?

They couldn’t.

It had all been a lie. They’d fooled him once, but no more. He knew better now, and he would _never_ doubt his friends again.

“Where is the Imposter?” he asked, fists clenched. He didn’t know what he was going to say – other than informing the Imposter that Naegi was onto him – but he wanted to see him.

“Oh, he’s with everyone in the chapel! That’s why Ibuki is here! I was supposed to tell you two that . . . Makoto-chan, whatcha doing?”

“Makoto!” Tsumiki scurried forward. “Please, be careful. You shouldn’t move so fast . . .”

“I’m fine, Mikan,” Naegi said, as he lifted himself out of bed. “I just wasn’t eating enough, remember? I’m not actually sick.”

“But that would still make you weak and tired. You might trip and h-hurt yourself. I can grab the wheelchair . . .”

“It’s fine,” he said again, weary. “I don’t need a wheelchair.”

“B-but you still should use one, just to be safe . . . Makoto? Where are you going? The wheelchair’s over here!”

“Don’t worry, Mikan-chan. Ibuki is on the case!”

. . . That was how Naegi found himself running through the halls while Tsumiki and Mioda chased him with a wheelchair. And wow, the girls were surprisingly fast. Soon enough, he was no longer running away because of pride, but because if he let them catch up now, there was no doubt that he’d end up being run over. Tsumiki hadn’t lasted long and fell behind quickly, but Mioda had taken over the wheelchair for her, and the Musician wasn’t slowing down. Naegi’s legs were aching as he barely kept in front of her, and Mioda kept up an endless holler of impending victory.

He slipped.

The fall sent him tumbling sideways, face-first into the wall. Mioda and the wheelchair roared past him, skidding to an eventual, but loud stop. The Musician flung herself over the distance separating them, like she was shot out of a cannon, and attached herself to his back. She immediately hollered for Tsumiki who appeared eventually, red-faced and panting.

When he saw the look the two were giving him, he crossed his arms and mumbled, “Fine.”

They were halfway through loading him onto the wheelchair when Komaeda appeared around the corner.

“Naegi-kun, what are you doing?”

For a moment, Naegi froze, caught up in the fear and guilt of a child caught doing something they had explicitly been told not to do . . .

Only, this wasn’t that situation. He wasn’t restrained to that hospital bed, or Kamukura’s room, or wherever the Luckster thought he was supposed to be. Naegi shook himself free of the girls and set his shoulders, preparing himself for whatever Komaeda would bring.

( _His pulse was fast and furious, thumping like the block -)_

“I know that Togami I met wasn’t real,” Naegi said. “He’s an imposter. He tried to fool me, but . . . but I know it’s wrong!”

“Ah,” Komaeda said. He gave no other reaction as he waited for Naegi to continue.

“You tried to make me believe he was Togami. You tried to make me believe that he was one of you. Well, you can’t fool me anymore. The real Togami’s still out there, and he’s still fighting along with the rest of my friends. He’s not a friend of Despair, and I know he’ll never be.”

“Naegi-kun . . .” Komaeda shambled toward him like a zombie. It put Naegi’s senses on high alert, and he was suddenly hyperaware of Tsumiki’s presence beside him. Komaeda got closer, closer, until he was within arm’s reach –

And he fell to his knees in front of Naegi.

“Naegi-kun! You . . . you . . .” A soft hissing sound squeezed its way out between Komaeda’s clenched teeth. “I feel it. Your hope! I can see it. It’s so wonderfully bright.”

He crawled forward, grabbing at Naegi’s pants.

“So beautiful,” the white-haired teen mumbled. “I see it all around you. It’s . . . . I could drown in it!”

Komaeda suddenly rubbed his cheek against Naegi’s leg, like a cat. It was weird and creepy and _gross_ and Naegi kicked away from him, stumbling backwards right into the wheelchair.

“Um, Komaeda. . .” Tsumiki tried.

“I was getting so worried about you, Naegi-kun!” Komaeda purred, practically slithering up Naegi’s legs. “I thought I might have miscalculated and shown you too much, too soon. I even found you a present to make it all better . . . But I should have known better than to doubt the Ultimate Hope! Look at you. You did it all by yourself.”

By this time, Komaeda’s face was almost against his. The Luckster’s hands were on Naegi’s knees for support as the white-haired teen held himself in an odd, hunched crouch. The bone of Komaeda’s knee pressed into his shins, making them quiver.

“To think I almost doubted you . . . How arrogant of me. I . . . I should be punished, shouldn’t I? Is that you want, Naegi-kun? Do you want to punish me?”

Naegi shook his head, unable to speak.

“No?” Komaeda rolled that word around his mouth. “Are you sure? You could hit me. Or yell at me. Or choke me.” With that suggestion, he grabbed Naegi’s hands and closed them around his throat. “I don’t mind. Anything you want, I’m okay with it. Anything for you –”

Which was when Mioda helpfully shoved him back.

“Nagito-chan, you’re being all creepy again!” How Mioda managed to say that with nothing but cheer was something Naegi was unable to understand. How Komaeda responded by smiling and laughing like it was an inside joke was something that he also didn’t get.

“I’m not going to punish you,” Naegi mumbled.

Hand on his hip, Komaeda said, “Well, if you insist.”

Naegi looked away and licked his lips as he formulated his next question. There was something Komaeda mentioned earlier that was sticking with him, hanging over his head like a guillotine.

“Komaeda-kun, what ‘present’ are you talking about?”

Komaeda giggled, and he suddenly seemed to be hunched over Naegi again, face right in his. “If it isn’t vain of me to say so, a wonderful one! I had arranged it to give you a kickstart on restoring your hope – I was so impatient and naïve back then. You never needed it!”

“What is it?” Naegi asked warily.

Komaeda’s smiled widened. He took a step forward. Tsumiki made a whimpering sound at that.

“I can still give it to you,” Komaeda murmured. He reached out, and cupped Naegi’s cheeks. “How about this? If you’re good today, I’ll give it to you tonight. Okay? I hope you behave, Naegi-kun. I’m really looking forward to this!”

“Still creepy!” Mioda chirped.

Komaeda straightened up, and finally turned his attention to Naegi’s companions. “We should get going. They’re all wondering where we are.”

What concerned him was that Tsumiki and Mioda both immediately agreed, and that neither really answered him when he asked where they were going. Even Komaeda offered no hints, instead glancing down at him and ruffling his hair. So, Naegi slumped back in the wheelchair, where each metre Tsumiki pushed him made him dread a little bit more.

“Naegi-kun, do you hate despair?” Komaeda suddenly asked.

. . . _Komaeda, why?_   he wanted to ask. This was already a seriously loaded question coming from him, but now with Tsumiki and Mioda – two members of Ultimate _Despair_ – around, it had become that much more dangerous. He struggled for a bit, mind working frantically to piece together an answer that wouldn’t make things worse.

“Despair is natural,” he finally said. “People will always feel it. You can’t exterminate it, and you shouldn’t try. But too much despair is a problem, and so is feeling despair for too long. There’s a natural order to it and where you need it and don’t, and generally . . . you don’t.”

“Of course not,” Komaeda said. “Despair is just a stepping stone for the wonderful –”

“But despair is awesome for writing songs!” Mioda said, elbowing Komaeda aside. “Ibuki wouldn’t have hits like ‘Everyone is Sad and I’m Sad Too’ or ‘I Stabbed My Best Friend in the Face and it Feels Great!’ if it wasn’t for despair!”

“Despair is what brought me and my beloved together,” Tsumiki sighed. Naegi felt her stroke his head. “It’s what brought me you!”

That was a phrase that didn’t go over well with Komaeda. The Luckster lunged forward, hands raised as if to tear Tsumiki off the wheelchair. He stopped short though, and shook his head fiercely. “Tsumiki-san, forgive me for questioning you, but you shouldn’t confuse him. He’s a child of hope, not despair.”

 “But isn’t he Junko-chan’s kid?” Mioda asked.

“Yep!”

“ . . . Oh, okay!”

Komaeda fell into step beside the wheelchair and laid his hand on Naegi’s shoulder. “Naegi-kun, I know you’re instinctively turned away by despair, but can you do us a big favour and try to hide it? Things are rather tense at the chapel, and everyone’s walking on eggshells. I don’t want you to make yourself into a target.”

. . . Just what was Komaeda getting him into?

The chapel doors were heavy, oaken ones. Komaeda was about to open them, when somebody from the inside did. A girl in a pink, floral kimono peered out at them, her long blonde hair hanging freely behind her. She scowled at them, and scowled deeper when her stare roved over Tsumiki.

“Finally!” Saionji Hiyoko, Ultimate Traditional Dancer said. The door closed behind her as she stepped outside. “I was going to come drag you by your ears.”

“Sorry!” Komaeda said.

“This is him? He’s . . . tiny.”

Naegi squirmed. “I haven’t hit my growth spurt yet.”

“Whatever!” Saionji crossed her arms with a pout, glaring at the wall. “Hey, don’t do any of that dumb hope stuff once you get inside, or I’m going to bop you on the head.”

“I’m already warned him,” Komaeda said.

Naegi tried again. “What’s going on in there?”

The four Despairs glanced at him, but again didn’t answer.

“Sh-should we go in?” Tsumiki asked.

“Of course we should!” Saionji snapped. Her jaw worked as if she wanted to say more, but all she did was march forward and yank the chapel door open.

Inside, were the other members of Ultimate Despair (including that _Imposter_. If Komaeda hadn’t been right there, Naegi would have rushed him). They hung around the apse in small groups, whispering to each other or completely silent. Komaeda was right: there was definitely some kind of built-up energy in the room, although Naegi didn’t think it was inherently dangerous. Still, his knuckles went white as they rolled him up the aisle. The Despairs, he noticed, were looking at him with something close to sympathy. He doubted it was because of the wheelchair.

Upon the church’s altar, there was a long, rectangular box. The sides were opaque, but he could see the top was made of glass. The strange thing though, was that it appeared to have mechanics of some type installed. Naegi could hear a soft humming coming from it. Whatever it was, that appeared to be the center of attention, as Tsumiki wheeled him up to it until they hit a curb, and then needlessly helped him the rest of the way. Naegi walked slowly, unsure of what he’d find as he reached the box and peered inside –

The carefully preserved, frozen corpse of Enoshima Junko stared back at him.


	29. The Body

Enoshima’s corpse was more intact than it had any right to be. Last Naegi had seen of her, a giant block had dropped on her head and smashed her to pieces. She should have been a pancake, or a smear on the ground. But this corpse was mostly whole. There were wounds here and there, gaping holes that looked like someone had plunged a jagged knife in and twisted it, but she was still recognisable as herself. If Naegi hadn’t seen Ikusaba’s body explode, he would have wondered if he was looking at Enoshima’s twin.

What really struck him though was the lack of decay.( _Maybe her despair was so inhuman that even bacteria rejected her_ ). He had no idea how long it had taken Ultimate Despair to find her, or to put this portable icebox together, but he hadn’t expected her to look so . . . so much like she had died yesterday. Even the frost clinging to her clothes and hair and the greyish tint to her skin couldn’t shake the fear he had that she would suddenly poof back to life and jump out at him.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured. “She . . . I saw her . . .”

“It was a trick,” Soda said. “The guillotine didn’t kill her. Right before it dropped, there was a trapdoor that opened beneath her so she didn’t get squashed.  She died when the spears impaled her under there.”

“But _why_?” he stressed. “If she was going to die either way, why would she bother?”

“To give us a body,” Komaeda said quietly. He stared intensely at Enoshima’s corpse. What was that emotion Naegi saw there?

He asked again. “Why?”

Next to him, Tsumiki sniffed loudly. “For the funeral.”

Funeral? It had never even occurred to him that Enoshima would have one. He supposed she would have wanted one –how could a room full of people crying over her body not excite her? He supposed too, that he couldn’t protest or deny this. Enoshima had been alive once. Everyone deserved a funeral, didn’t they?

Naegi nodded. “Okay.”

He hadn’t spoken with much emotion, because his emotions weren’t sure how to react to this body. However, Tsumiki took his quietness as grief and wailed loudly as she suddenly hugged him from the side.

“Oh, sweetie. I know it’s hard. Some of the best despair always comes when your mommy dies.”

He inhaled deeply and turned into her a little, hiding his non-teary eyes. He was ready to go back to his room now. Or the infirmary. Just away from here.

Kuzuryu suddenly said, “Well, it’s about time you got her body here. Weren’t you supposed to get here a week ago?”

“Ibuki tried,” Mioda said, shuffling her feet. Unlike the cheery persona Naegi had seen before, this Mioda lacked expression, speaking almost monotonously. “She and Hiyoko-chan had trouble following the blueprints.”

“It’s Soda’s fault!” Saionji snapped. “If he didn’t write like a blind guy we would have put it together a lot faster. You guys should have sent that greasy monkey instead!”

“Ack!” Soda reeled, arms covering his head as if Saionji’s words were real weapons. “It’s not fault! I told you guys I was working on the Big Bang project. I didn’t have time!”

“I bet that thing doesn’t even exist. You probably made it up so that –”

“That’s enough.” To Naegi’s surprise, Tsumiki said that. Nobody else seemed to bat an eye. Even weirder was that Saionji snapped her mouth shut. Naegi didn’t know her that well, but from the impression he had gotten, he hadn’t expected that to work.

“You’re being very mean,” Tsumiki said. “And I . . .”

She suddenly looked down at him, and her face softened.

“. . . I’m going to f-forgive you because Makoto doesn’t need to see this.”

Saionji’s jaw worked.  With a crooked, not-at-all-genuine smile on her face, she said, “Thank you, Tsumiki-san. You really are the nicest person I know. I appreciate your generosity.”

It was a nice sentiment. Despite that smile, it didn’t seem to be said mockingly.

. . . So why were there despair swirls in Saionji’s eyes?

“We shouldn’t fight here,” Nidai said. “Not while her body is lying before us.”

That too, was a nice sentiment –

“No, we all need to show our despair. Everybody, START CRYING!”

. . . Well, it was the thought that counted.

Nidai’s encouragement was all that was needed. Tsumiki and Owari both burst into tears and fell to their knees before Enoshima’s coffin. Back in the aisle, Soda and Saionji started wailing too. (Meanwhile, Nidai kept up a steady cheer of ‘Grieve! Grieve!’ in the background). Ibuki didn’t move; it seemed like she was in a trance of some kind. The Imposter had turned away, shoulders shaking just the barest amount. Hanamura hadn’t started crying yet, but he was suspiciously stuffy as he stood there, watching.  Kuzuryu was stone-faced, but when he walked up to the coffin, he placed his hand on the glass directly above Enoshima’s face and bowed his head. Pekoyama lurked behind him. Her face was cold, and unlike her master, Naegi knew that was exactly what she felt.

Next to him, Komaeda made a sound almost like a scoff.

“Ultimate Despair,” he said. He dragged his hand along the edge of the coffin. “Such a black hole . . . She really was remarkable, wasn’t she?”

“She was . . . different,” Naegi allowed. “I didn’t understand her. I still don’t.”

“I’m glad,” Komaeda said. He suddenly ducked down and whispered into his ear, “Naegi-kun, you need to start pretending now.”

Naegi swallowed and looked around. Apart from him, Pekoyama and Komaeda, everyone else was visibly mourning. Yes, he had to act in a way that wouldn’t draw attention to him. The problem though was that . . . he couldn’t. Enoshima’s death saddened him, but it didn’t drive him to tears. He simply didn’t possess the sorrow needed to fit in.

Still, it was bad to stand out. So, he pressed into Tsumiki’s side, all small and curled up, like a frightened child unsure of what to do. She reacted exactly as he knew she would: she grabbed him, and let him nestle into her shoulder as she rubbed circles into his back. It was the most he could give, so it would have to do.

“Oh, Makoto!” She was half-sobbing, half-whispering. He was not surprised to see the despair eyes. “You hardly knew her. You spent so little time with her. You never even touched her.”

“I know,” he said. He didn’t mention that he preferred it that way.

Once again, Tsumiki misinterpreted his response as grief. “She loved you, Makoto. You were such a good boy. You brought her despair that nobody else – even me – could. You were the perfect child. I’m sure she’s watching you right now.”

He stiffened. He almost – _almost_ – looked up just to make sure that Enoshima’s ghost wasn’t indeed hovering over him.

Tsumiki buried her face in his hair. “I know I can’t replace her. I will never be anything like my beloved. But I’m . . . I’m going to try my best, okay! I promise!”

Naegi was only half-paying attention. He was totally not still checking for Enoshima’s spirit. That’s why he said reflexively. “You don’t need to do that, Mikan. Just be yourself. That’s all I want.”

Tsumiki’s breath hitched. Her expression began to tilt into one of confusion and – oh no. No, no, no. Not now. Not here in front of everyone. He did not want all of Ultimate Despair to figure out what he was trying to do with her.

Luckily, Tsumiki was a person who was easy to distract. Naegi pressed closer to her and whimpered. Immediately, she was back in full-despair mode, collapsing around him so that her arms encircled his small frame and her body seemed to shield him off from the world. She was warm. It was nice in the big, cool space of the chapel.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder. It was much, much too big to be Tsumiki’s.

“That’s right. Let it out,” the Ultimate Coach said. “No need to be embarrassed. Look at me! My face is covered with manly tears. Hahahahahaha, they won’t stop!”

It seemed true enough, the Coach was laughing heartily like he was having a beer with his friends, even though his eyes shone with tears.

“Yeah,” Owari said, wiping her eyes. “You gotta embrace it. Embrace the despair she gave us.”

“Thoughtful until the end.” Hanamura sighed. “What a wonderful woman.”

“There’ll never be anyone like her again,” Mioda said.

Naegi thought, _I hope not_.

He stayed there burrowed into Tsumiki’s side. It seemed to be the safest option. Despite how close she remained to him, she was too busy – or had projected too strongly – to notice that Naegi had maintained the same semi-blank slate. No one else noticed anything wrong either.

Time passed, and he passed the test. Ultimate Despair finally calmed down and the swirls began to dim. Kuzuryu and Pekoyama left first, the Yakuza with his fedora tipped over his face and his face frighteningly fierce. Tsumiki, he imagined, normally wouldn’t be the second to go (and would probably come back), but apparently the need to get some space between him and the corpse of his ‘mother’ overrode her need to mourn. Komaeda followed them out – of course – and once she had wheeled Naegi safety out of the chapel, the Luckster began to speak.

“Tsumiki-san, were you taking him back to the infirmary?”

“No,” the Nurse said. “I don’t think he needs to go back. B-but maybe I should just to be safe . . .”

“If you don’t think he needs to go back, then I’m sure he doesn’t,” Komaeda said. “I don’t doubt your talent. It’s just that if you don’t need to take him back there, I can take over from here and you can spend more time with Enoshima-san.”

That . . . Naegi struggled to breathe. That didn’t mean anything, right? Komaeda hadn’t seemed angry while they had been inside, and . . . and he had done a pretty good job at pretending, hadn’t he? He’d listened. Nobody seemed to have thought anything was wrong.

“I don’t know.” The wheelchair slowed to a stop. “That must have been hard on him. I don’t want to leave him yet . . .”

Naegi stopped listening. For at the end of the hall, where the chapel lay, the double-doors had opened and a very familiar figure stepped out. His jaw set. The _Imposter_. That was the whole reason he’d wanted to get out of the infirmary in the first place.

The Imposter was coming their way. Each footstep boomed, like it was a countdown.

Once the Imposter was within earshot, Naegi growled, “You’re not Togami Byakuya.”

The Imposter blinked. “What was that?”

“You’re not Togami!” Naegi repeated. Tsumiki and Komaeda were watching him with something like concern, but he paid them no mind.

“At this moment, I am,” the Imposter claimed.

“No, that’s wrong! You’re just an Imposter. You’re not really him. You never were!”

A tense silence followed.

The Imposter raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

. . . That was it? He had expected something a little more. Yet the Imposter continued to stare at him, appearing confused. So did Tsumiki and Komaeda for that matter, as if everything he had had been common knowledge –

Which, okay, it technically was to Ultimate Despair. But he wasn’t Ultimate Despair and he hadn’t known, so they should give him a bit of slack here!

“Is there anything else?” the Imposter asked.

Naegi deflated. “. . . No.”

The Imposter stared a moment more and then left, seeming a bit uncomfortable. In the lapse that followed, Tsumiki and Komaeda concluded their argument, and Naegi found himself being wheeled through the halls by Komaeda.

“Naegi-kun . . .”

Naegi swallowed. This was it. This was the moment where –

“You did a good job in there.”

. . . Oh.

“Not that I doubted you,” Komaeda said, “but you’ve been acting so contrary lately. I’m so glad everything worked out!”

“Yeah,” Naegi said breathlessly. “Me, too.”

Komaeda reached forward and ruffled his hair. “You’ve earned your present, Naegi-kun! I need to coordinate things, so I can give it to you in a couple of hours. I’ll take you back to your room until then.”

“That would be nice,” he said carefully.

The moment he was back in his room, Naegi walked over to his bed and crawled underneath the covers. The springs creaked as he shifted, wrapping the blankets protectively around himself like a shell. He peered out from the little hole he had left at the top.

It was quiet out there. Too quiet. He poked his head out. Kamukura was present, as always. He was still on his bed, looking at some sort of book and . . . hold on. That meant Kamukura hadn’t been at the chapel. He never saw Enoshima’s body.

“Kamukura-kun, do you know –?”

“Yes,” he said. He flipped the page. “I am aware of what lays in the chapel. It does not interest me.”

“Not even a little bit? I mean you . . .”

_You’re living with Ultimate Despair._

“My reasons for being here never had anything to do with Enoshima Junko. She was rather interesting, but that wasn’t enough.” Kamukura set the book – ah, it seemed to be some sort of album or scrap book – down on his chest.

“Then why are you here?” Naegi asked.

Kamukura just stared at him.

“. . . Kamukura-kun, why didn’t you go back to your family?”

The former Hope shrugged almost carelessly, “They were not present when I returned, nor was I able to find them. My parents either perished or disappeared during the initial disaster. Perhaps Enoshima arranged it that way.”

Naegi flinched. It seemed that every time he pried, he ended up feeling sorry for Kamukura.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Kamukura asked. “You had nothing to do with those events. Regardless, it’s not that important. Even Haijime had a weak relationship with them.”

“Haijime?”

Once again, Kamukura fell silent.

“ . . . Who are you, Naegi Makoto?” the older teen suddenly asked. “Why is it that you insist on asking these questions?”

“I’m . . . curious, I guess.” He squinted at Kamukura, heart buzzing in his chest as he tried to figure out what exactly the other teen was looking for. “I want to get to know you.”

Kamukura turned his head sharply. “Why is hoarding secrets so important to you?”

“H-hoarding secrets?” Naegi would have sat up in shock, but the blankets tightly wrapped around him prevented that. “That’s not what I do! I mean, that’s not what I try to do. It just happens.”

Kamukura’s red eyes bore into him. “Do you understand the power behind what you just said, or does your talent render you incapable?”

“I . . .”

“I see. The latter, then.”

Naegi lay there, confused and a little nervous. Whatever Kamukura was talking about, he seemed to be over it. That was good, he guessed. Kamukura’s last question seemed to be loaded, if not outright dangerous. He was glad he didn’t have to answer that.

He laid there in his blanket cocoon, not really thinking about anything in particular (if at some point, he teared up and his fists started to shake, he wasn’t telling). It was warm enough inside the cocoon to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t really have the energy or will to unravel himself. He stared mindlessly at the ceiling, eventually shifting his gaze downwards over the cabinet, then downwards even further to pan over –

“Is that . . . ? Is that Komaeda-kun’s poem on my pillowcase?”

“Yes. He stitched it in last night after I refused to paint it on the ceiling.”

. . . He was never going to escape that poem.

Komaeda showed up sometime later, bright-eyed, unnaturally still as if holding himself back from vibrating out of pure excitement. Naegi’s heart dropped, his stomach folded in on itself, but he followed nonetheless. Komaeda took him down a route that wasn’t familiar to him and when he opened the door to their destination, it was nothing more than an office with an open laptop on the desk.

(Why then, as he took in the sight, was his throat suddenly tightening?)

Komaeda walked inside first. Naegi followed closely behind him. _Closely_. There was hardly anything in here but the desk, its chair, and a couple of other chairs. It was probably a room meant for meetings. Yet the room’s colours just seemed _off_. The lighting wasn’t right, and –

( _The air was impossibly stale and tasted of blood –)_

Komaeda pulled the chair out from the desk. “Naegi-kun, sit down here.”

“S-sit . . . sit down?” His tongue seemed to have swelled, making it hard to get anything out.

“ . . . Yes?”

Naegi couldn’t move. His legs were shaking. The wall, too, felt like they were vibrating.

(  – _vibrating with a scream the knife slowly slid under the skin and up the arm_ )

Komaeda’s hands were suddenly on him. He made no conscious decision to resist, but he did. He didn’t know it, but he was pushing back and digging his heels in. But his uncoordinated struggles made him easy to out-manoeuvre and next thing he knew, Komaeda had shoved into the chair.

It was easier in the chair. The vantage point was quite different than it had been from the doorway, and that sour, coppery scent wasn’t quite so strong. He took a few deeps breaths in succession, each one a little cleaner.

“You okay now, Naegi-kun?” Komaeda asked. He was rubbing Naegi’s shoulders.

Naegi did not respond. Komaeda’s question bounced off his brain. The Luckster sighed, and reached past Naegi to use the laptop there. He clicked a few buttons, and then withdrew, moving to the front of the desk.

The laptop’s screen lit up. Something on it moved as noise came out of the speakers. Naegi stared blankly, unresponsive. However, as the noise suddenly grew in pitch and volume, his eyes began to light up. Slowly, jerkily, like a rusted machine coming to life, Naegi began to move. He blinked furiously, mouth opening and closing as his mind struggled to grasp what lay on the screen before him.

Finally, one word escaped him.

“K-Komaru?”


	30. The Present

Dark brown hair with an ahoge curling over the left side. Wide green eyes shimmering with hope and disbelief. A white school uniform, decorated with a red necktie and a blue collar. Naegi Komaru looked so much like herself, so normal and _intact_ that Naegi was convinced that he was watching some sort of home video. It was only when those green eyes filled with tears and his name was spoken in a breathy whisper that Naegi’s big brother instincts rose to the surface and told him yes, this was Komaru. He grabbed the laptop and squeezed so hard he was surprised it didn’t break. His eyes swept over the screen, taking in everything he saw there, anything to tell him where his sister was and what was happening to her.

“M-Makoto, is that really you?”

He could barely breathe. Komaru was here right in front of him. She was crying now, just as he was, and he laid his hand against the screen as if he could reach through and comfort her. God, he should be happy. Maybe he was. Maybe he was just too happy and that’s why he felt ill.

But he couldn’t let that show. He had to be strong for his little sister. He forced a shaky smile onto his face ( _a smile that would crack under the slightest pressure_ ), reaching inward for that optimism and cheerfulness his sister would expect from him.

His throat was thick with emotion, but that didn’t stop him from whispering, “Yeah. It’s me. Komaru, are you okay? Have they . . . have they done anything to you?”

At the mention of his captor, (Why did he say that? He should have known better, and asked about something else first!) Komaru withdrew into herself. She drew her legs up onto the chair she sat upon, and rested her chin on her knees.

“I’m . . . okay,” she said, and Naegi didn’t believe her for an instant. “They haven’t done anything to me.  You know what happened, right? There was a group of men, and they broke into our house . . . I’ve been here since.”

“You mean you’re a prisoner.” He could feel the color drain from his face. Yes, she was. That’s why he felt sick when he saw her. Because how else could Komaeda had arranged this unless she, too, was a prisoner of Ultimate Despair?

Naegi had to force himself not to break down. He . . . he was the worst brother ever. What kind of brother was responsible for getting their sister kidnapped by a group of terrorists, even if it was only due to association? Not a good brother, that’s for sure. He was useless.  He didn’t deserve all these titles bestowed on him.

“Yes,” she said. She glanced around, as if nervous someone was watching. “I don’t know what they want. They never say anything. They just deliver food every day, and go.”

Naegi didn’t say anything. Part of him was still struggling to grasp that this was his sister before him. The other part of him was still wrapping his mind around the idea that she was unhurt. At least, she said she was.

“Makoto, where are you? Do you know where our parents are?”

His mind screeched to a stop. His fragile smile froze on his lips. He didn’t know. He hadn’t even known where she was until now. What was he supposed to tell her? He no longer knew that either! ( _What kind of big brother was he, to not know how to comfort his little sister_?)

“ . . . You don’t know.” And Komaru sounded so frightened and wounded, so _despairful_ that Naegi dug his teeth into his lower lip and bit back an audible whine.

“I’m sorry!” he said, because what else could he say?

“You’re . . . you’re okay, right?” Her voice wavered on the edge of hope. “You’re still at Hope’s Peak aren’t you?”

For a moment, Naegi’s emotions gave way to confusion.

“Komaru, don’t you know?”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “They don’t tell me anything here. I have no idea what’s going on outside. Did you leave the school to look for us?”

She didn’t know. Once he was sure of that, the choice was easy to make.

“I’m not at Hope’s Peak anymore, but it’s not important why,” he said, because it was true. His sister had enough to worry about without worrying over him. He’d take care of himself. It wasn’t her job to watch out for him.

But Komaru knew him, and his mask was nowhere near perfect. She said his name slowly, like he was a rabbit about to bolt. “Makoto, did something happen?”

He hesitated. “N-no.”

“Makoto, what happened?”

He didn’t answer.

“She’s not very good at getting the hint, is she?” And Komaeda’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder.

On the other side of the screen, Komaru jumped in her chair. “Huh?”

Komaeda turned his head and smiled at Naegi. “Remember, Naegi-kun. This is a conversation of hope! You don’t have to talk about those things if you don’t want to.”

She asked, “Who are you?”

A deep, annoyed scowl overtook Komaeda’s face. “An ordinary, unimportant person like you doesn’t need to know anything about me.”

Naegi looked away from the screen, face heating up in shame.

“ . . . Makoto?” There was a new kind of terror in his sister’s voice now. Naegi looked back at her immediately, but it still took him time to figure out what it was.

Komaeda had insulted her.

Naegi hadn’t jumped to her defence.

It had said more than enough.

“Who are you?” Komaru asked one last time and though her voice shook badly, she persisted. “What do you want with my brother?”

“I’m his guardian,” Komaeda said with a half-shrug.

“What does that mean? Makoto, what’s going on?”

He knew his smile was broken, but he didn’t know how to fix it. “It’s alright, Komaru. You don’t need to worry about me.”

As he spoke, Komaeda’s arm had shifted a little. His fingers stretched and slid over the clavicle and a little down Naegi’s chest as he stared Naegi’s little sister down. Naegi couldn’t see Komaeda’s face, but if he had, he would have understood what set her off.

“Makoto!” Komaru shouted. She was halfway out of her seat, as if prepared to fling herself through the screen and appear on their side. “Makoto, what’s going on? What do they want from you?”

“Ah, this isn’t going very well,” Komaeda said. “I think that’s enough.”

“No, please! Give us a few more minutes.” Naegi’s voice was emotional and rough like sandpaper, but it didn’t seem to affect Komaeda any.

“Let me speak to my brother!”

“Sorry, Naegi-kun. Not this time.”

“Makoto –!”

His sister’s frantic voice cut out as Komaeda closed the laptop.

Without Komaru’s voice or the humming of the laptop, it was eerily quiet. Komaeda appeared to be lost in thought as he tapped his fingers on the laptop’s case. Naegi stared at the closed computer, remembering Komaru’s face, burning that last image of her into his mind. Their conversation had been so short and emotional, but at least he knew. She was alive. She was okay.

For now.

 _Komaeda’s angry_. Those two words slithered into his mind. His chest squeezed like a serpent was wrapped around it. Timidly, moving slowly as not to attract attention, he peered up at Komaeda. There was a furrow in his brow. His lips were turned downward. He was mad, wasn’t he? That’s why he’d shut off the laptop. Komaeda was mad. He shouldn’t have pressed Komaru about her knowledge of the Killing Game. He should have gone along with her original theory. Now Komaeda was mad, and it was his fault, and _oh god what was he going to do to her?_  

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out. He grabbed Komaeda’s arm when the Luckster didn’t say anything. “I mean it. I’m really sorry!”

Komaeda stared at him.

“Oh, Naegi-kun.” Komaeda’s bright smile was like a comforting pat. “I appreciate it, but you don’t need to apologize. I made the mistake of assuming your sister would intuitively understand the rules. I forgot she was an ordinary person of only average intelligence. None of that was your fault. It wasn’t either of your faults in the end.”

“Are . . . are you sure? Are you mad at her?”

Komaeda didn’t answer him directly. “You did well today, Naegi-kun. Both here and in the chapel. I know that conversation got out of control, but you tried. I watched you. How could I be mad when you tried so hard?”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“I’m quite happy actually.”

“Good.” Naegi nodded his head, unconsciously breaking out into a relieved smile. He felt so much better now. “That’s good.”

“I’m going to let Tsumiki-san in now.”

Tsumiki was here? When? Why?

That last question was quickly answered when Komaeda opened the door. Tsumiki walked in. In her hands, she held a platter of food. She put it down gingerly in front of Naegi, as if afraid he would get upset and yell at her.

“Umm, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Tsumiki said, “but considering your eating habits, I thought it would be best if I started personally delivering your lunches.”

“Just lunch?” he asked suspiciously.

“Well, you usually eat in the dining hall with everyone else for breakfast and dinner . . . when you bother to eat them . . .  so I didn’t think I needed to . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed what you wanted.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “I was just curious.”

“Oh.” Tsumiki still looked tense, and she only relaxed when the first spoonful of broth disappeared down Naegi’s throat. “Komaeda-kun, shouldn’t you get something to eat, too? I can watch him.”

“It’s alright,” Komaeda said. “I can eat later. Naegi-kun’s wellbeing is much more important than a little thing like hunger.”

Naegi shrugged. “You can have some of –”

“No!” Tsumiki seemed surprised by her own protest, and covered her mouth with a little ‘ _eep_!’. “I’m so sorry, but Hanamura-kun and I designed this just for you. It covers all the major vitamins and minerals you’ve probably been missing, and it’s enough calories to be filling without straining your stomach. It probably can’t handle a regular meal since you’ve been skipping so many . . .”

Naegi blinked. “Oh. Tell him I said thanks. That was really nice of you two.”

Tsumiki didn’t speak, but her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “What were you doing? There isn’t really anything in here.”

Spoon halfway to his mouth, Naegi hesitated. He glanced at Komaeda, unsure if he was allowed to answer truthfully.

“I was rewarding Naegi-kun for his good behaviour,” Komaeda said.

That seemed like permission. Staring at the closed laptop again, Naegi mumbled, “He let me speak to my sister.”

“You . . .” Tsumiki blinked slowly. “You have a sister?”

“From _before_ ,” Komaeda said, an edge of dislike there.

“Her name’s Komaru,” Naegi said. “I haven’t seen her or my parents for such a long time. I’m really glad I got to see her.”

Tsumiki frowned just the tiniest bit. But when she noticed Naegi watching her, she quickly returned to smiling again. “That’s right. You don’t have any playmates. But you’ll be getting a friend soon! Komaeda-kun, when is he getting here?”

“I heard he should be here in a couple of days.”

“A friend?” Naegi’s skin prickled. That could mean so many things, and so many of those options were _bad_. What if Ultimate Despair had gotten their hands on one of his classmates? Or even one of his middle school friends? Would they do that? Would they be willing to bring in another outsider even after going such lengths to isolate him here?

And that was a whole other can of worms. If Ultimate Despair was hostile to the outside world and so intent on keeping him to themselves, then who would they trust to act as his _friend_?

Those two days couldn’t be far enough away.

* * *

“They have my sister.”

Why was Naegi telling Iwata this? He wasn’t sure. Speaking about your problems was supposed to make you feel better, right? Well, that was definitely not true. He certainly didn’t feel better after saying that. And it’s not like Iwata could physically help him, or needed more worries heaped upon his shoulders.

Naegi’s own feelings of inadequacy seemed to be echoed in Iwata’s sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Iwata said.

Naegi didn’t answer. Anything he could say seemed to be empty words at this point. He had no idea how to help Komaru. Sure, he could keep her safe, if he _behaved_. At least, he assumed so. But as for actually getting her out? He had no idea. ( _He couldn’t even get himself out, let alone someone far away_ ). But Iwata was part of the Future Foundation, wasn’t he? Maybe he had an idea Naegi could build upon.

Iwata said, “She’s a hostage.”

“Komaeda-kun never explicitly said that, but I think so,” Naegi said. “They’re definitely holding her for a reason. He . . . they let me speak to her to ‘reward’ me.”

“For what?”

Iwata said that sharply, with tension Naegi didn’t quite understand. He squinted in the darkness, trying to read the older man’s expression. But Iwata’s haggard face, dirty and gnarled from weeks of confinement, never said much. It was stuck in a permanent exhaustion, backed by a layer of steel and strength that never seemed to dull. ( _He wondered if Iwata was putting on a mask for him, the same way he tried to do for Komaeda and Komaru_ ).

“For not insulting Enoshima-san’s corpse. I think,” he said.

Iwata relaxed and he still wasn’t quite sure what had happened.

Then, Iwata asked, “Why were they showing you pictures of the corpse?”

Naegi shook his head. “It wasn’t a picture. They have the actual corpse here. It looks like they built some kind of portable refrigeration unit and then dragged her all the way back.”

He thought Iwata might ask why, but he seemed to think better of it.

“She was in a lot better shape than I was expecting,” Naegi said. “Apparently she wasn’t actually squashed. There was a trapdoor underneath that she fell through at the last moment, and she was impaled by spears underneath.”

“That . . . why?”

Naegi shrugged. “Ultimate Despair thinks it’s so they would have a body for the funeral.”

One of the other prisoners laughed when they heard that ( _rough and ghastly, like the dead coming back to life_ ). “A monster like that doesn’t need a funeral. She should have been burned and tossed in a landfill.”

Naegi chose not to say anything to that. He thought it was a little harsh, but he understood their anger.

“What are you going to do now?” Iwata asked.

“I don’t know. If I could just find out where they were keeping her, maybe . . . maybe I could send a message to the Future Foundation or something.”

Iwata exhaled. “I suppose you can try.”

 _It’s not possible_ , was what Iwata wanted to say. But he didn’t. And so, Naegi wouldn’t acknowledge that. It would be one thing to give up on his own freedom. It was an entirely different thing to give up on his sister’s. He . . . he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t fall to that level. Even if he had to give up a few things in return.

“Ultimate Despair has to know,” Naegi thought aloud. “Komaeda-kun’s probably ordered the Monokuma soldiers not to tell me, but the rest of them have to know.”

“You think you can get them to tell you.”

Naegi thought about it. A slight smile pulled at his lips. “I think so. There’s a couple of them I think I can trick. Iwata-kun, if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand, but do you have any family?”

Iwata shifted in his cell. He was silent for a while before answering. “I have a niece in Sixth Division. She was alive and well last I saw her. However, I don’t know if she was involved in this recent attack or not. Considering her position, however, she probably was . . .”

“Your niece is good at her job, isn’t she?” Naegi interrupted.

“Yes, she is.”

“Then you probably don’t need to worry about her!” Naegi said brightly. “I mean she’s come this far, hasn’t she? You two haven’t been separated long, so I doubt anything’s happened to her since. I mean even this last battle between Ultimate Despair and the Future Foundation wasn’t a real fight. Apparently, they were just trying to sneak people in to find me.”

( _Or murder him, but he didn’t say that_ ).

Iwata chuckled a little. “Thank you, Naegi-kun.”

Naegi shared his laughter, and then stood. “I should probably get going. I wasn’t given a time limit, but I don’t want to push it.”

“Somebody knows you’re here?”

“Komaeda-kun’s outside,” Naegi said, glancing that way. “I don’t want to make him wait too long.”

“Komaeda? Komaeda Nagito? The white-haired person I saw with you the first time? _That_ Komaeda?”

Naegi rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah. He says he’s okay with me visiting you guys now. I don’t really get it either.”

Iwata gave him a long look. “You don’t honestly believe him, do you?”

“Does it really matter?”

( _ ~~what I want never matters~~_ )


	31. The Spark

“What was your family like?”

Kamukura side-eyed him. “Didn’t our previous conversation establish that I had no close ties with them?”

“I know, but they raised you, right? That’s got to count for something.”

Kamukura shrugged and return to staring out the window. “They were distant. They were more concerned about how their son represented them than whom he truly was. They were very disappointed that he turned out to be so ordinary. That was why they enrolled him in Hope’s Peak Reserve Course . . . and why he was as foolish as he was. They, as many others did, made the mistake of believing those in the Reverse Course had a chance to become Ultimates. They underestimated the corruption that permeated that place.”

Seated on the edge of his bed, Naegi kicked his feet and thought. Kamukura didn’t sound mad; he was as dull and emotionless as ever. But Naegi still felt that he should tread carefully here, and take care with his words.

“Kamukura-kun, I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but you really seem to hate who you were in the past. Why?”

Kamukura was silent for a few seconds. “Hate is a strong word. Disappointed would be a better description. However . . .” His head tilted to the side a little before he continued. “. . . It is unfair to blame him. He did not have my talents. It would be unreasonable to expect he could predict what was coming.”

“. . . You keep talking like you’re different people.”

“What would you say makes a person, Naegi?” Kamukura looked him in the eye this time. “Relationships? Memories? Dreams? Because Hinata Haijime lost all that when he became Kamukura Izuru. Why then would I not consider him separate?”

 _Hinata Haijime_. Naegi stored that name for future reference. “But you do that to yourself, too. Like sometimes you talk about Kamukura Izuru like he’s an entirely different person.”

Kamukura stared at him. When he turned back to the window, it wasn’t just Kamukura’s head that moved; Kamukura turned his body away from him, too.

“Kamukura-kun . . . why did you decide to change your name?”

The silence that followed was chilly.

“I didn’t,” Kamukura finally said. “They did.”

“I don’t understand,” Naegi said. It didn’t seem right. Someone as strong and powerful as Kamukura just letting people change his name? That didn’t seem like him at all.

“You need to pay better attention. When they made me into Hope, they took my memories. I no longer had a name, so they gave me the one they thought suited me best.”

“Kamukura Izuru.” Naegi said his name slowly, as if speaking it for the first time. “Wasn’t that the name of –?”

“Naturally. Have you not deduced that it was Hope’s Peak Academy that did this to me?”

. . . No, not really. Naegi hadn’t given it much thought. Although it had been implied time and time again, Naegi was only beginning to realize that when Kamukura said they designed him to be like this, he actually meant they _designed_ him. At most, Naegi thought that they had done something to him in the womb. But that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that Kamukura hadn’t always been this way; they’d taken a regular boy, and warped him into this.

His first instinct would have been to sympathize with him, but Naegi wasn’t sure that would go well. Why tell Kamukura that what they did to him was horrible when he obviously already knew it? At this point, it would only be rubbing salt in the wound.

Instead, he gathered up his courage and took the plunge.

“Kamukura-kun, did you know what was going to happen?”

It was just a moment’s pause, but it seemed to last forever. The silence was its own sound, swelling until it buzzed in his ears. Kamukura turned toward him again and this time . . . this time Naegi saw it. Deep within the other’s eyes, like a tiny flame struggling to survive in a high wind . . .

“No. I did not.”

. . . Anger.

It should have frightened him. Nothing good ever happened when people in this place got angry. But Naegi didn’t feel scared. He felt the opposite; he felt strong somehow, as if his skeleton were carved from the toughest metal.  That strength carried over to his voice, dropping its pitch a tone when he spoke.

“What did they tell you?”

“That they would give me a talent,” Kamukura said. Naegi felt the vibrations of that voice in his bones. “They did not mention everything else they had planned to do. Perhaps if I had looked it would have been in the paperwork, but why would I have been suspicious enough to check?”

Naegi nodded. “They weren’t very good people then.”

“They were arrogant. Fed by the elitism that academy bred. The welfare of an ordinary, untalented student was of no concern to them.”

“Kamukura-kun, there’s one thing I don’t understand,” Naegi said. “If they took away your memories, then how do you know all this?”

Kamukura didn’t answer.

“Kamukura-kun . . .?”

“Naegi Makoto . . .” A pregnant pause followed. “. . . What is your family like?”

“H-huh?” Naegi blinked rapidly, completely unprepared for this change of topic. “Umm, well we were an ordinary family. I think. I have a sister, and we used to have a dog. Komaru . . . my sister’s still alive. Komaeda-kun let me talk to her yesterday. We don’t know anything about what happened to our parents though. Komaru hasn’t seen them since she was kidnapped, and I haven’t seen them since . . .”

All that strength obtained from that conversation with Kamukura left in a big exhale. _For years_ , was the appropriate end to his statement, no matter how it hurt him to think about it. Technically, it wasn’t true but as far as his memories were concerned, that’s what happened.

Two years . . . so much could have happened in that time. Komaru seemed more or less the same, but that didn’t mean his parents were. And she might have only been the same on the surface; what if she had a _boyfriend_ or something, and he couldn’t remember? That would be embarrassing.

“A family of perfectly average people,” Kamukura said.

Naegi laughed, not the least bit insulted. “Actually, yeah. A lot of people say that about us. It’s pretty nice though. Like we’re not spectacular or famous or geniuses or anything, but it doesn’t really matter that much. We all love each other, and I’m not sure what else we need. Sometimes, I met people like Fukawa-san and hear what their family is like . . . Honestly, I’m glad we’re so normal.

“. . . I had a pretty wealthy friend in middle school,” he continued. “He moved away, but before he did, he used to always be over at my house. I was always a little confused as to why, because his house was a lot cooler and had so much more to do. But he explained it to me one day. It was my parents. His own parents were always super-busy with work, and that’s why they had so much money. But because of that, they were way too busy for him. That’s why he liked coming over. My parents were always around, and I guess he liked being around adults he knew cared about him. Because they did. I think it’s a Naegi family trait that we care about everyone that comes our way.”

As he had spoken, Naegi’s voice steadily became softer and he began to smile. All of a sudden though, he snapped out of that pleasant daze and remembered where he was and whom he was speaking to.

“Ah, I’m sorry! I –”

“I’m not jealous,” Kamukura said. “Your family bond does not bother me.”

Naegi’s cheeks went a little red. “Oh. Thanks.”

“ . . . A word of warning, Naegi.” Kamukura’s hair seemed to quiver in a breeze. “Be very cautious when discussing your family with the others.”

“I know. Komaeda-kun probably wouldn’t like that . . .”

“It isn’t only Komaeda you should worry about.”

Naegi looked up at him nervously, not quite sure where Kamukura was going with this.

“Do you truly believe Tsumiki will be content to have her position usurped? Or Kuzuryu will appreciate a declaration that your loyalty belongs to someone outside? Ultimate Despair is possessive and quick to offend. They do not recognize your family. They acknowledge no one as your kin except Enoshima Junko. It would be best you respect that.”

Naegi was quiet as he absorbed that. It seemed that all his very existence did now was inconvenience others.

“ . . . The Future Foundation will protect them,” he said. “If they have the opportunity, they’ll rescue them. They would, right? Even if it’s only because they’re family to the Ultimate Hope.”

“Correct.”

“Then I just have to find a way to send a message to them!” he declared, getting to his feet in his excitement. “If I tell the Future Foundation where they are, then I bet they’ll send people to find them! Speaking of which, Kamukura-kun, where is Komaeda-kun keeping my –”

“Naegi.” Kamukura cut him off with that one word. He let the pause hang before continuing. “That would be cheating.”

“You’re . . . we’re still doing that?”

Kamukura dipped his head. “Yes.”

Naegi was . . . he was disappointed. No, not disappointed, but no word better described this indefinable emotion. Kamukura had been so friendly lately (or at least as friendly as Kamukura could be) that he’d forgotten the teen wasn’t on his side. Hearing that answer now was like a slap in the face. He felt betrayed, even though Kamukura had never once pretended to be anything but a neutral party.

“I guess I’ll be going then,” he said. He watched an unmoving Kamukura from the corner of his eyes as he walked towards the door.

(He didn’t know what he was expecting. An apology? No, that was ridiculous.)

(It still hurt.)

* * *

“So where’ve you been, anyways? Other than at the chapel, nobody’s really seen you since the whole Future Foundation thing.”

“Around, I guess,” Naegi said to Soda. “Mikan was worried about my health so I was in the infirmary for a bit.”

“Infirmary . . . Hey, you’re not contagious or anything, are you?” Even as he asked, the Mechanic was taking a big step back. “I got lots of work to do, and I don’t want . . . Look, a strike!”

Naegi glanced down the bowling lane. Yep, that was a strike.

“First of the day!” Soda hooted. “Hah! Told you I knew what I was doing.”

“You’re pretty good at this,” Naegi said.

Soda shrugged. “Eh, I’ve had lots of practice. Next one’s yours.”

Soda urged Naegi forward with his arm, and Naegi obeyed. He grabbed the ball from underneath, and spoke as he popped it up to chest level. “It’s nothing contagious, by the way. I just haven’t been eating enough. Do you usually bowl with the others?”

Soda leaned back against a nearby rail. “Sometimes. Owari-san and Nidai-kun like to play. Hanamura-kun joins in, too, if he isn’t busy.”

“Not Kuzuryu-kun? It seems like something he’d like.”

“Nah.” Soda sounded like he wanted to roll his eyes. “He’s always saying he’s too busy for normal things like fun. He’s a wet blanket.”

Naegi made a sound that was neither an agreement nor a disagreement. He loaded the ball into the cannon and quipped, “Don’t let Pekoyama-san hear you say that.”

“You know, he did say there was one way he’d participate.” Soda rubbed his chin as he remembered. “He said he’d be interested if we replaced the pins with real people. But that’s insane. There’d be blood and little pieces all over the place, and we’d never get it cleaned up. That stuff smells when it starts to rot.”

He tried his best not to picture it ( _ignoring the coppery scent that coated the roof of his mouth_ ). He occupied his mind instead with the cannon controls, adjusting the barrel’s angle until he thought it was perfect.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said.

Soda looked over at the lane. “Yep. Looks like they’re set up. Go for it.”

Just like Soda did, Naegi fitted the thick earmuffs over his head. He patted them once, twice, making sure they were on right (he’d did it wrong once, and his ears were still ringing). Then, he clicked the ominous, big, red button.

A loud _boom_ filled the room.

There was screeching. A crash. And then little Monokuma parts went flying into the air.

“Not bad,” Soda said.

“I hit _one_ ,” Naegi deadpanned. “One _arm_.”

“Still better than nothing. You just need more practice, that’s all.”

Naegi laughed. He didn’t even have to force it that much because he was used to laughing at himself, and Soda wasn’t hard to get along with. “You’re right. Better than nothing. I bet it’s better than what she could have done.”

“Who?”

This was it. Now or never. All or nothing.

( _Perhaps the worst mistake he’d ever make_ ).

Naegi smiled widely, even as no emotion showed in his eyes. “My sister.”

Soda, in the midst of grabbing his next ball, stilled. “You have a sister.”

“She’s really boring,” Naegi said as dully as he could. His heart twisted at the heretical words, but he forced himself to keep going. “She’s been super boring as long as I can remember. Not exciting at all. To be honest, it’s been no different now that she’s not around.”

“I see. . . So, you think about her a lot?”

There it was: fishing for information. That was part of the reason Naegi had chosen Soda; the Mechanic didn’t do subtle very well. Naegi let out a short, disdainful-sounding snicker, and said, “Hardly ever, actually. The only reason I even remembered her is because this morning, Komaeda-kun was talking about how she’s sitting around . . . what was that place again?”

“Towa City?”

“. . . Yes. That’s the place.” Naegi ducked his head, making sure Soda couldn’t see his triumph.

“We could get rid of her, if you want.”

“No!” He said that too quickly and hurried to cover up for his mistake. “That’s not a good idea. I mean, what if . . . what if I need an organ transplant one day?”

“Huh. That’s a good point. Maybe we should move her closer then.”

“Seems like a lot of wasted effort to me.”

“Fair enough. Hey, even if you did need a kidney or something, Tsumiki-san’s got plenty of donors she can try out!” Soda laughed at that, and slapped Naegi on the back. “Anyways, my turn. Hey, Monokuma! That ain’t looking like a triangle to me.”

As Soda adjusted the cannon, Naegi sat down on one of the benches and asked, “What’s the point of all this?”

Soda stared at him and blinked. “To knock ‘em all down?”

“No, like . . . why Monokumas? Doesn’t it just make a huge mess?”

“That’s the point!” Soda shouted, eyes gleaming. “It’s such a waste of time and material. It’s terrible! The Ultimate Mechanic isn’t supposed to waste things like this, especially when they’re so hard to make. Plus, I gotta spend hours cleaning it up after and it’s super boring.”

Soda suddenly leapt away from the cabin, and draped an arm around Naegi’s shoulder. With his other arm, he pointed. “See that one? Remember it?”

Naegi looked. In the direction of Soda’s finger, he found rubble from one of the Monokumas they had destroyed. It was from the first set they had ‘bowled’, actually. How did he know? Because one of those first Monokumas had been wearing a pirate hat.

“That was Bobby,” Soda said. “Every week, I take a few of the Monokumas and name them and make them my favourite. I mean they are just robots, but they got personality to them. It’s pretty easy to get attached when you know every bit of their insides.”

His eyes suddenly lit up. “. . . And that’s why I blow them up with the cannon every week. I gotta reward my hard work with some despair, you know?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Naegi shifted underneath Soda’s arm. “If you’re going to do that, why don’t you just blow up all the Monokumas?”

“Can’t. We need them to spread despair.”

“Okay . . . but you probably don’t need all of them. Couldn’t you do something like, umm, every Friday you destroy all the robots you made that day?”

Soda blinked. “But then all my work is ruined . . .”

Naegi grinned. “Exactly! Isn’t that super despairful? And you still have all the Monokumas you made the other days so it isn’t a big deal.”

Soda hesitated. His expression seemed to stutter like a malfunctioning video.

And he grinned widely.

“Man, why didn’t I think of that earlier?” he exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to build a giant blender and see how many I could stuff in there . . . Just thinking about the possibilities for mass robot killings is making me drool. You’re a pretty cool kid, you know.”

Naegi shrugged. “Thanks.”

_It might only be one day of Monokumas you’re losing, but that’s still hundreds. It has to mean something for the world in the long-run, right?_

“You’ll come by, right? I think I’m going to have a massive gladiator fight with them first.”

Naegi laughed and it was genuine. “That actually sounds pretty awesome.”

“What’s awesome?”

He wondered if Soda felt him freeze up. The Mechanic was looking at Komaeda over his shoulder, a slight frown on his face. Komaeda met his gaze evenly, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“You two seem to be having fun. What were you talking about?” Komaeda asked.

Soda's arm slipped off Naegi’s shoulder. The Mechanic stared to answer. “He was telling me how –”

“We were talking about ways to kill a bunch of Monokumas at once!” Naegi interrupted. He had to. If Soda told Komaeda what they were really talking about –

“Why would you need to do that?” Komaeda asked.

Soda opened his mouth.

“You’ve never been curious?” Naegi said quickly. “You’ve never wanted to stuff them into a blender or something?”

“Oh, yeah! We’re totally going to do that,” Soda said.

Komaeda didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I was looking for you, Naegi-kun. I went to your room and you weren’t there.”

“Oh . . . sorry.”

“Well, I found you now. Let’s go!”

“Hey, aren’t we going to finish the game?” Soda asked as Naegi began to move.

Naegi hesitated. “Uh. . .”

“You can play with Soda-kun later.”

Naegi bowed his head. “. . . Okay.”

“Hey, just let us finish our game!” Soda protested. “Whatever you want can’t be that important.”

Komaeda ignored him. “Tell him, Naegi-kun.”

“Can I take a rain check?” he asked Soda.

“I guess?” The Mechanic rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t really get why you need to leave now though.”

“It’s fine, Soda-kun!” Komaeda said cheerfully. “I just need to talk to him about a few things.”

With that, Komaeda confidently strode out of the room, Naegi shuffling behind him. The Luckster patiently waited for him to enter the hall, and then shut the door.

“So,” Komaeda asked, “why were you lying to me in there?”


	32. The Blame

“I . . . I . . .”

Even before he said it, he knew whatever lie he had cooked up wasn’t going to cut it. Komaeda knew. Komaeda wouldn’t be fooled. He was just going to make things worse for himself.

Shivering, Naegi hugged himself as he stared at the ground. “I thought you would get mad if I told the truth, especially if Soda was the one to say it.”

“Soda-kun’s not very good with words, is he?” Komaeda said sympathetically. “Alright, I’ll let you explain.”

“I . . .” That last gulp of air had felt like inhaling a solid mass. “I tricked him. I told him destroying his robots was for the sake of despair, but it isn’t. Maybe he’ll get despair out of it, but in the outside world, I think it’ll spread hope.”

Komaeda cocked his head. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Naegi said, a wee bit surer. “If there’s less Monokumas out there, people are going to notice. When they do, they’ll start wondering if the worse is over. They’ll think things will get better. They’ll _hope_.”

Komaeda chuckled under his breath. It was a pleased chuckle. A good chuckle. Naegi’s shoulders loosened when he heard it.

“I can’t say I’m happy about you manipulating him like that, but baby steps first.” Komaeda reached over and ruffled his hair. “It’s a good start.”

“You’re not mad?”

A beat or two passed when Komaeda didn’t answer, and Naegi began to fear he had just reminded Komaeda that yes, he _was_ mad. But then Komaeda sighed, and it was an exasperated sigh rather than an irritated one. He was already close, but Komaeda took a step forward. They were just close enough that Naegi had to crane his head back to look at the Luckster.

“No, I’m not mad,” Komaeda said softly. He cupped the back of Naegi’s head, almost cradling it. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

Naegi bit his lip and said nothing.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer it honestly. I promise I won’t get mad.”

. . . Honestly? That would be thrusting a spear into a beehive. Komaeda wasn’t built to handle honesty – if he was, Naegi wouldn’t still be here. He eyed Komaeda with dread. There were so many directions Komaeda could go with this, so many traps he could set. Naegi could hear Komaeda’s voice in his mind a dozen times ( _sugar-sweet, but raspy like the cough of death_ ), each asking its own, equally nerve-wracking question . . .

“What are you to me?” Komaeda asked.

“Huh?”

“What are you to me? What do I think of you?” Komaeda repeated. “I want to hear it from you.”

There was no way whatsoever that this wasn’t a loaded question. Naegi knew he couldn’t quite restore the color to his face, but he tried to maintain a neutral expression as he looked Komaeda over. He didn’t know exactly what he was searching for, but he did know he was looking for clues. There were so many ways to interpret and answer that question. What did Komaeda want?

. . . Well, that was obvious, wasn’t it?

“Hope . . . I’m your Hope,” Naegi answered. “I’m the thing you’ve been searching your whole life for. I’m your big vision for the future, right? That’s why you’re keeping me here and . . . t-taking care of me. That’s why you need me. You need me to help rid the world of despair.”

As he spoke, he had watched Komaeda for a clue that he was on the right track, growing more and more nervous the longer it went without a visible reaction. By the end, his hands were slick with sweat, and he wiped them clean on his pants.

“So, that’s what you think,” Komaeda said, monotone.

. . . He had answered wrongly. He knew that instinctively, the way the prey sometimes knew a predator was lurking nearby. Sudden terror erupted inside him, and he stumbled backwards away from Komaeda’s reach.

“That wasn’t the answer I was looking for,” Komaeda said quietly. He followed Naegi’s gawky, backwards route with powerful strides, until Naegi found his back flush against a wall. Komaeda’s palms slammed into the wall on either side of his head, arms locking into place like steel bars. Even though there was a full arm’s length between them, even though Komaeda’s arms were at his eye-level and thus, easy to duck under, Naegi couldn’t move.

“Naegi-kun.”

The sound of his own name was like a knife to his ears, and he squirmed and fidgeted in place, wanting to run but unable to.

“Naegi-kun, look at me.”

Naegi went still. Slowly, he turned his head.

“What you are to me is very simple.” With that, Komaeda cupped his chin, dragging a finger along the curve of the sensitive skin there. “You’re the most important thing in the world.”

“. . . That’s it?” Not a single word about hope?

“That’s it,” Komaeda agreed. “To hear you believe that I only think of you as a tool. . . It’s painful. It’s my fault. It must be. I haven’t been telling you enough . . . Well, from now on, I’m going to tell you every day!”

“Tell me what?”

That hand cupping his chin moved upward, gliding across his cheekbone before falling away as Komaeda leaned in and touched their foreheads together.

“That I love you,” Komaeda said.

A knot of unease wedged itself in his throat. Naegi said carefully, “I know. I’m your Hope.”

Komaeda chuckled. “It’s not just that. I love your optimism, I love your friendliness, I love your ability to love. I love every little piece that makes you yourself.”

How did one respond to that? With a thank you? With fear? Naegi didn’t know. Komaeda’s ‘love’ was such a two-faced thing. Did he want it? _Should_ he want it?

 . . . Was Komaeda crying?

Yes, he was. It wasn’t the kind of ugly or strenuous sobbing he had seen Tsumiki engage in. This was a quiet cry, easy to miss unless the light was just right. The Luckster maintained a shaky smile, but tears were tracing the corners of his lips. He blinked rapidly a few times, probably trying to clear them away.

Something sour coiled in the pit of Naegi’s stomach. It felt almost dangerous, like a snake prepared to strike. But at the same time, Naegi’s own eyes were growing misty in sympathy. He could feel the pull. He had never liked to see people cry, and when he watched the tears drop to the floor, his heart flipped and folded in on itself in ways that shouldn’t be possible.

“It really does hurt,” Komaeda said, taking a step back. “If I had asked what you thought of me, I wonder what you would say . . . Nothing good, I bet.  How could you? I’m worthless. I don’t deserve love. I . . . I know you hate me, Naegi-kun.”

“I don’t hate you,” Naegi said instantly. Another tear fell from Komaeda’s face, and Naegi had an urge to reach up and wipe the rest away.

“I see the way you look at me,” Komaeda said. It seemed as though he was really speaking to himself. “You’ve always been an open book. Anybody can see it. Ah . . . ahahaha, maybe this is my luck cycle acting up. I would do anything for you. I’d give you the clothes off my back, cut off my arm, kill myself. Anything. Everything. And you still think of me as . . .”

Now, Komaeda’s voice was wavering. His breaths came fast and shallow. Naegi stood there, unsure what to do, not knowing how to help.

“I don’t hate you,” he said again. “I’ve said that before, haven’t I? I wasn’t lying when I said that.”

Komaeda hiccupped. “You’re too kind. You’ve always been much too good to me. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve kindness.”

“That’s not true!” Naegi said, almost feeling like he was speaking to Tsumiki again. He _hated_ when they spoke about themselves like this. “You shouldn’t say that.”

Komaeda gave him a long look. “You’re so forgiving. I wish I knew how you could forgive me for that.”

“Wh-what exactly are you talking about?” Naegi asked quietly. He couldn’t speak any louder, or his voice would shake with trepidation.

Komaeda swayed back and forth on his heels. His teeth were digging into his lip, as if what he was about to say physically hurt him.

“The _execution_.”

That stopped any retort Naegi might have had.

Komaeda’s whisper was harsh, like he was telling Naegi the code to defuse a bomb. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t want to do it. I had to, but I hated it. I hated myself. I couldn’t sleep after. I’ve done such terrible things to you.”

“Komaeda-kun . . .”

“I can’t. . .” Komaeda turned his back to him, staring upward as he dragged his hands down his face, like he couldn’t believe he was alive. “How can I ask your forgiveness? I don’t deserve it. I’m trash. I’m such a terrible person –”

“Komaeda-kun –”

“I punished myself!” Komaeda whipped around so fast that one moment, Naegi was looking at his back and the next, his leering face. “See? See what I did for you?”

Komaeda nearly tore off his sleeve as he pulled it back. Naegi could only gasp, emotions immediately exploding into shock. Down Komaeda’s arm, still scabbed and painful-looking, were a series of cuts that looked as though they had been placed there by a knife.

“I had to do it,” Komaeda said breathlessly. “I had to punish myself for what I did to you.”

“N-no, you didn’t!” In Naegi’s mind, those cuts were leaking fresh blood.

“Yes, I did. I had to atone for what I did. I need to atone . . .”

Komaeda’s unwounded arm twitched. Suddenly, there was a knife in his hand. He flipped it so that the edge of the blade lay against his skin when he held it to his already injured arm.

“I need to atone . . .”

The knife pressed into his skin just like . . . like . . .

( _“Skin yourself,” the Yakuza ordered, and the knife glided under the skin, exposing oozing red as the skin peeled back -_ )

“ _STOP!_ ”

Neither of them moved. Naegi had grabbed Komaeda’s wrist, stopping the knife cold. His hand shook, but Komaeda’s contrasting steadiness seemed to balance it, and that’s what Naegi concentrated on when he opened his mouth and spoke.

“Komeada-kun, please. You don’t need to punish yourself.”

“I do. How else can I earn your forgiveness?” Komaeda gently extracted himself from Naegi’s grasp, and hugged himself. “I need you to forgive me. I can’t –”

“Okay.”

Komaeda blinked. “Huh?”

“I  . . . I f-forgive you,” Naegi said shakily. Was this it? Could he finally help? _( ~~Anything to make it stop~~_ ). “You don’t need to punish yourself, so _please_. Put the knife away.”

_~~Don’t make me watch again please I’m begging you –~~ _

“N-Naegi-kun . . .”

“It’s okay.” Naegi stepped forward. “You don’t need to cry.”

That opened the floodgates. Next thing he knew, the knife clattered to the ground and Komaeda’s arms were locked around him. Naegi moved his own arms awkwardly, twisting them free of the sudden pressure.

“Naegi-kun. . .” Komaeda nearly sobbed. “Thank you, thank you!”

“It’s okay,” Naegi repeated.

Komaeda whimpered. “Please don’t make me hurt myself again.”

“O-okay . . . I don’t want it to happen either. I didn’t know . . . I’m sorry I made you do that.

“Don’t make me . . . don’t make me do anything like that to you again.”

“I . . . I’ll try, okay?”

“. . . Thank you,” Komaeda whispered into his hair. Naegi stood there, feeling Komaeda’s chest move as he breathed in and out.

(He completely missed the smug, little twist to Komaeda’s smile).

* * *

“Do you honestly just sit around and do nothing all day? Doesn’t that grow boring?”

“Everything’s boring,” Kamukura said.

“But isn’t this . . . even more boring?”

“Just because Komaeda left you in here doesn’t mean you have to stay here,” Kamukura said flatly. “If you’re looking for something to do, leave.”

Naegi wrung his hands together nervously. “But if Komaeda-kun comes by . . .”

“Tell him I kicked you out,” Kamukura said. “He will not question it.”

“That’s a good idea. Thanks!”

That said, now that he had made the decision to leave, he wasn’t sure what to do next. In theory, he did. He had the information on where his sister was being kept, and he knew whom he had to get it to. There, however, lay the problem. Future Foundation members weren’t just wandering around. He wasn’t allowed to leave either, and he doubted he would be permitted to send a letter – at least not without Ultimate Despair reading it first.

He was so, so close to helping his sister. And yet he couldn’t do a damn thing.

He kicked a wall for good measures. He didn’t feel exactly helpless, just restless. He wanted to run a few laps, or destroy a few of the Monokumas until he was covered in sweat. Except not really, because he wanted to do something useful; he wanted to _help_. He wanted to be able to do something more useful to the world than talking Soda into destroying some robots here and there. But he couldn’t. Not while he was locked up here while the world moved on without him.

He ended up hitting the punching bags in the gym. They weren’t easy on the knuckles and he had a few scrapes by the end of it, but it still wasn’t enough. He breathed heavily, staring at his own shadow on the swaying bag.

“Not bad. I like to see that kind of passion in my athletes!”

Naegi turned, half-expecting to see Owari there with him. But it was just Nidai today, wearing a bathing suit with a towel draped over his shoulder.

“We have a pool?” Naegi asked.

“Of course we do!” Nidai said. “What kind of world-class exercise facility doesn’t have one? You wanna join me for a swim?”

“I . . .” Naegi struggled to decide past the strange feeling in his head. Nidai was asking if he wanted to do something? And actually waiting for an answer? That . . . that didn’t happen. Most of the time, they only asked out of politeness (if at all) and made the assumption he had agreed. It wasn’t very often he was given an actual choice.

Naturally, then, he wanted to say yes.

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” Naegi said.

“Swim in your shorts, or toss it all aside. I’ve seen all kind of bodies, so there’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“Yeah. I’m going to keep my shorts on.”

Despite Nidai’s assurance that he didn’t need to be embarrassed, he was feeling a little warm when he stood on the poolside without his shirt. Nidai was giving him a blank look, gaze slowly sweeping down his torso and arms.

“Shit. You’re just skin and bones.”

Naegi half-shrugged. “I was never that into sports. Or good at them.”

“I thought you just had a great body for figure skating. I didn’t realize you were sick.”

“I’m not sick –”

“Nice try!” Nidai’s finger poked him in the chest, and nearly knocked him over. “Everybody knows you spent a night in the infirmary, and Hanamura-kun’s been making some special meals for you.”

“I’m not sick!” Naegi half-turned away, oddly embarrassed by what he said next. “I’ve just lost a lot of weight because I haven’t been eating enough.”

Nidai was oddly silent. He watched Naegi closely, making the smaller teen turn a light shade of red.

“You know that isn’t healthy, right?” Nidai asked in a soft voice that didn’t fit his appearance.

“I know,” Naegi said. “I don’t do it on purpose. It just happens. I’m not hungry and I end up skipping a meal and . . .”

“Hey.” Nidai’s huge hand landed on Naegi’s shoulder. Somehow, it held no more weight than a butterfly. “You don’t need to be ashamed. We all got stuff to deal with. You can’t keep letting it bring you down though. You got to take care of yourself.”

Naegi didn’t answer. How could he explain his problems to one of the people responsible for them?

“I was going to say we should swim a few laps, but I don’t think that’s what’s needed here. You go test out the water. I’ll be back.”

Though Naegi was feeling a bit numb, he still walked down the steps into the shallow end. It was perfectly heated – of course it would be. He let his arms float on the surface at his sides as the water licked at his neck.

“HEY, NAEGI! CATCH!”

Something big but very light hit in in the head.

“An inner tube?” he said, surprised. He knew what they were used for, and those kinds of activities were not something he associated with the boisterous Coach.

“Look, kid.” Nidai crouched at the edge of the pool like some bizarre gargoyle on a church. “Any Coach can tell you to practice and work out. But what separates the great coaches from the good ones is knowing when to take a break. As the Ultimate Coach, I’m telling you: you need to sit back and relax. Instead of swimming laps with me, just float around and I’ll swim laps by myself.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Yet despite how those words usually came along with bad things, Naegi still found himself saying that with a crooked smile.

“Haha, no you don’t! Now hang onto that floatie, because it’s time for a CANNONBALL!”

That wasn’t a wave. That was a _tsunami_.

It was a good thing the water was heated or he would be shaking all over.

As Nidai had suggested, Naegi paddled over to a corner out of the way, and floated along as Nidai completed furious laps. It wasn’t like watching Asahina swim. She moved with a slick speed, cutting through the water as smoothly as a skate gliding across ice. Nidai’s was much more energetic, leaving white-tipped splashes in his wake. Here was a man who wasn’t swimming for competition or even fitness; Nidai clearly just enjoyed the workout for what it was.

Over time, the sound of splashing faded into the background. Naegi floated in his inner tube. His fingers dangled in the water. Water teased at his stomach, but otherwise lay rather calm. The touch of the cool but not cold liquid was rather nice on his sore muscles (he hadn’t noticed they were sore before). He allowed himself to let go slowly, letting more and more of his body fall limp. It was nice. He had to admit that Nidai was right about this.

He let his eyes shut as the steady ebb and flow of the water rocked him to sleep –

When he woke up again, his hair was wet and cold, but he no longer seemed to be in the water. It was too warm for that. He began to move automatically, stilling once he realized his feet weren’t on the ground and he was going to fall –

“Hey, careful!” Nidai said. “Let me put you down first, alright?”

Nidai set Naegi on his feet carefully. Naegi stumbled, still disoriented.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing important. I was taking you back to your room,” Nidai said. “You took a nap in the pool. Which is fine and all, but I couldn’t leave you in there too long or you could have gotten hypothermia.”

“Oh. Thank you. You were right about that, you know. I do feel better.”

“Good.” Nidai beamed at him, but before long, his expression settled in something more serious. “You gotta take care of yourself, kid. There’s only so much a coach can do without the athlete’s cooperation.”

“I know. I’m going to try to be better,” he said. “But seriously, thank you. I needed that.”

“Haha, no problem! Just remember: we’re on your side here.”

Naegi looked at him closely, trying to figure out what exactly that meant.

“. . . Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All you people expecting Komaeda to do something absolutely terrible... See, you were worried for nothing. All he did was... is that considered some weird form of victim-blaming or not?


	33. The Musician

“. . . You were a stepping-stone for hope, and that is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Naegi opened his eyes. The crinkled paper he held rustled as his arms lowered. Behind him, Komaeda sat on his bed, face screwed up in thought. When Naegi handed the eulogy back, he didn’t seem particularly impressed.

“Not enough hope,” Komaeda mumbled to himself. Naegi did his best to ignore it, even as anxiety swirled within him.

It was late in the evening. Reciting the eulogy seemed to be a new routine Komaeda wanted to establish, like a replacement to the Lord’s Prayer. Fitting, he supposed. Certainly, something like that must have resonated with Komaeda.

“Ready for bed?” Komaeda suddenly asked, tilting his head curiously.

Naegi said, “I guess . . . Komaeda-kun, can I ask you something?”

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Can . . .?” He had to take a moment to collect himself. The last time he’d felt like this, excited . . . it had been so long ago. “Can I talk to my sister?”

. . . Komaeda should not have been silent for that long.

“You know, Naegi-kun. I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Yes?” he said eagerly, bouncing to the top of his tiptoes in excitement.

“. . . I’m beginning to wonder if that was a mistake.”

His heels hit the carpet with a thump.

“It wasn’t a mistake!” he protested. He stumbled a few steps forward, meeting Komaeda’s eyes. How could he make Komaeda see it his way? “You were right. I felt so much hope seeing her. I’d really like to feel that hope again!”

“It’s only a temporary fix, Naegi-kun, and I’m not sure it’s good for your long-term development. Ever since you saw her, you seem to be distracted.”

“. . . Like distracted by hope?” he tried, desperate.

“No.” Komaeda stood, towering over him. “Your mind seems to be so far away now. You’re not focused at all. Like that eulogy you just read. It didn’t feel like your heart was in it.”

That was true, of course. But it had nothing to do with Komaru, and what was more, Naegi suspected Komaeda knew that, too. It must have just been a convenient excuse for him.

 _Ah, so this was the catch_. In the back of his mind, he had always wondered if Komaeda had an ulterior motive for letting him see his sister. And the answer was, unsurprisingly, yes. Komaru was the carrot he offered in opposition to the stick.

And the worst part was Naegi knew it would work.

“So, am I wrong?” Komaeda asked.

There was no point in lying.

“You’re not wrong,” Naegi said quietly.

Komaeda watched him with calculating eyes, a smirk playing at his lips. “Then do you think you deserve to speak to her?”

Why? _Why_ would he ask something like that? It wasn’t even a question. Komaeda had already laid out the instructions as to how Naegi should answer. They were going over the same idea again and again. Komaeda already knew. Naegi knew what he was supposed to say. It was all so redundant.

(It still hurt).

“No,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t deserve to speak to her.”

Komaeda pushed the eulogy into his chest.

“Do you want to try again?” Komaeda asked.

There was no choice. How could he do anything but attempt to help his sister?

It would be impossible to inject enthusiasm into his voice, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do better. He was deliberate with his words this time, speaking slower and louder, taking care not to actually think about what he was saying. Instead, he pictured Komaru in his mind, kept up a steady chant of why he needed to do this. It was just words, right? Komaeda was the only one here to hear this. It didn’t mean anything.

He finished his second attempt, aware of Komaeda’s sharp eyes on his back. The silence seemed to stretch on endlessly, and Naegi had to keep himself from badgering Komaeda for a response.

“Naegi-kun, come.”

Komaeda started to walk, and Naegi followed him. The Luckster led him . . . into the washroom? Naegi stood in the doorway, utterly confused, until Komaeda reached over and pulled him in front of the mirror.

“I want you to look at yourself when you read it, okay?” Komaeda commanded. “Give it one more try.”

Naegi glanced at Komaeda, then at his reflection (­­ _dark-eyed, dry chapped lips, skin still raised and rough where he had been hit with the wrench_ ). Alright. It wouldn’t be that different, would it?

He was wrong. Standing there, gazing into his own eyes while the words tumbled out of his mouth brought them a new presence. Now, he found it impossible to ignore what he was saying. The words stung him like a swarm of bees, and he stumbled and tripped over them. Twice, he had to restart, too choked to continue, Komaeda generously offering him a glass of water when he did. The third time, he managed to finish, and he felt like he had just ran a marathon.

“Was that okay?” he croaked.

“Better,” Komaeda said. “But still not enough. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

It was like being slapped. Naegi shut his eyes. _Komaru, I’m sorry. . ._

Komaeda ruffled his hair. “You don’t need to be upset. I have faith in you. I know one day, you’ll give me exactly what I’m looking for.”

* * *

Walking through the halls alone felt odd (though he wasn’t truly alone. One of the robots or soldiers would always trail him when they saw him wandering about). He kept glancing over his shoulder, convinced that every gust of air was Komaeda breathing down his neck. His heart seemed to be beating quieter than usual, as if trying to help him listen for the impending footsteps of the other. Every shadow taller than his waist required a second look, in case Komaeda was hiding within. He told himself these were reasonable precautions. Komaeda had pervaded so much of his life already. Why shouldn’t he keep an eye out for him?

Hopefully, once he reached his destination, he could let his guard down. There would be someone else there, after all. And if the solider was leading him the right way, he knew exactly whom it would be. The day Enoshima’s body had arrived, he had met two new members of Ultimate Despair and he had to say, at least one of them piqued his interested. Mioda Ibuki had an attitude unlike any of the other members of Despair he had seen. She seemed so cheery. Nothing like despair would suggest at all.

He had to investigate further.

The soldier stopped in front of the thick, wooden door to the auditorium. If Naegi listened closely, he thought he could hear the sounds of a guitar coming from within. He smiled to himself; looks like he was going to walk in on the Ultimate Musician’s practice. It was bound to be great!

He opened the door –

. . . What kind of hell was this?

All of the lights had been turned off. Instead, lines of candles marked the edges of the stage, lighting the figure of Mioda Ibuki from underneath. Her red eyes shined, erupting with a brilliant gleam as her fingers slammed into her guitar’s strings and fire burst from its head. The fire swirled high into the air, fading into a shower of loose flames and embers that fell around their creator in a circle as she reached forward and grabbed the microphone –

_Oh god what was that?_

 This must have been what the language of despair sounded like. That or Mioda had discovered the ancient speech of demons. A torrent of harsh, vile _sounds_ fell from her lips, seeming to cast a black film around her. Naegi slammed his hands over his ears. It was too much. It was too loud. It was too horrible!

“ . . . Hey, Makoto-chan! Nobody told Ibuki you were coming to see her.”

He didn’t even hear Mioda speak. He just noticed that _sound_ had stopped, and had slowly peeled his hands away from his ears.

“Uh, hi.” Was he actually speaking that quietly, or had he just gone a little deaf? “I didn’t realize you were busy.”

“Not busy,” Mioda said. “I’m practicing! That’s what musicians do. Practice, practice, practice. You should know. Weren’t you besties with Sayaka-chan?”

That stung. Not entirely in a bad way – he just hadn’t expected her to be brought up.

“I hope I was,” he said quietly. For sure, their story during the Killing Game hadn’t ended well, but he was sure it had been different before their memories were erased.

On stage, Mioda pouted. “Sayaka-chan never wanted to perform with me. She said my music was too loud for her singing. Do you think she would have changed her mind? Because now Ibuki’s music is what all the fans want!”

As if to emphasise her point, Mioda strummed her guitar and behind the candles, a dozen geysers of confetti exploded into the air.

“Makoto-chan!” she called out. “Why are you still all the way back there? The front row’s over here. Oh, did you want to take up Ibuki’s offer to play the drums?”

“Honestly, I just wanted to get to know you better,” Naegi said.

Mioda gave him a very strange look. Her expression was some kind of mix between surprise and confusion.

“Well, Mikan-chan was right that you were cute. But that’s like puppy-cute . . . And Ibuki isn’t into that.”

Now, it was Naegi’s turn to give her a confused look.

Wait a second.

 _Oh_.

“That’s not what I meant!” Naegi yelped, face red. “I meant that in a completely platonic way.”

Mioda visibly sighed. “Oh, good. Ibuki was worried she was going to have to break another heart.”

“You get a lot of suitors?” Naegi asked, walking closer to the stage.

“Uh-huh. Everybody wants to date a band member.” Ibuki tilted her head to one side and closed her eyes, smiling fondly. “Ibuki’s not really into that stuff though.”

Naegi stopped in front of center stage, so that he looked upward at Ibuki. The lightning from here was eerie; all he could see of her face was the slope of her neck, and those blazing eyes.

“Mioda-san, what exactly do you do for Ultimate Despair.”

Those eyes brightened. Mioda sucked in a huge breath and opened her mouth –

“I perform!”

“ . . . That’s it?”

“Yep! Ibuki does what Ibuki does best.”

He didn’t get it. That wasn’t despairful at all. Well, he supposed the quality of her ‘music’ could count as despair, but still. It was nothing like Kuzuyru, or what Tsumiki did in her shows.

“What exactly do you mean by perform?” he pressed.

“I play music!” She strummed the guitar again, but this time there was no confetti. “Sometimes, Hiyoko-chan joins me and dances, and then the audience goes crazy!”

“And that’s how you spread despair?”

“Eh?” Once again, Mioda looked confused. “No, Ibuki plays music for all her wonderful fans!”

He was sensing a disconnect here. She was part of Ultimate Despair. She _had_ to contribute somehow. Yet, she didn’t seem to understand what he was talking about. As if the concept had never registered in her mind.

“But you’re playing songs about stabbing your friends in the face. Why would you play something like that?”

Mioda looked like she was struggling to understand, but she still answered clearly. “Because that’s what Ibuki’s fans like.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep! Ibuki knows. Look at this.” Mioda ran off backstage. When she returned, she held what appeared to be a scrapbook. Grinning widely, she knelt on the edge of the stage so she could hold out the scrapbook to him, and flipped it open. Plastered across both pages were a series of photographs from what he imagined was one of her concerts. She looked fierce; her hair flew up and around her like it was alive. She wore dark clothing, accentuating the reflections bouncing off her piercings. Her guitar was a black-and-red, sharp-edged instrument. There wasn’t fire coming out of this one, but in one of the photos, he could see flames coming out of the ground. Saionji was in a couple of them, too, always dancing in the shadows. The photos were still, but there was still something hypnotic about the way she held herself.

“See? Look how many fans there are.” Mioda’s finger traced over the crowd, all of whom, he noticed, wore Monokuma helmets. “Ibuki never had crowds this big before. People . . . they didn’t like my songs. They said they were too loud, and Ibuki should be playing ‘normal’ music. But I can’t do that. I don’t want to play that music, and Ibuki plays from the soul!”

She dropped the scrapbook into Naegi’s hands. Her fingers glided over her guitar’s strings, urging out a chord that resonated in the auditorium.

“So that’s why Ibuki plays songs of despair, because that’s what she and the fans agree on!”

It still sounded so innocent. _She_ seemed so innocent. Yet Naegi knew better. She was part of Ultimate Despair, which meant she couldn’t be. There was a darkness Naegi hadn’t seen yet. He just couldn’t understand what.

“Mioda-san, do you . . . Do you kill people?”

Mioda laughed. “Sometimes, Ibuki’s music is so heart-poundingly exciting that they faint.”

Faint, but not die. There was a huge difference, and he thought Mioda knew that, too. If Mioda was telling the truth, if all she did was play music and didn’t kill, then what was her contribution? There had to be some contribution from her. He didn’t think Kuzuyru would allow her to stick around if she didn’t.

He opened the scrapbook again and looked at a picture. Mioda was center stage, tongue sticking out as she belted lyrics into a microphone. The crowd behind her looked thick, a sea of monochrome bear heads with red eyes. Many of them, he saw with alarm, were hoisting baseball bats, crowbars and other weaponry above their heads. Next the edge of the stage, Saionji was in the middle of a twirl, a sly smirk on her face as her kimono flared out around her . . .

“Mioda-san, after your concerts are over, what do your fans do?”

Mioda smiled widely. “They act out their favourite parts!”

_. . . Stab your best friend in the face and feel great._

Ah, he understood now. Yet even as he did, she still didn’t seem to. Much how like Soda didn’t seem to comprehend the true horror of the Monokuma helmets, she seemed unable to grasp the true purpose of her performances.

“Mioda-san.” He leaned against the stage, arms crossed and lying atop it. “Are you saying it’s your fans that spread despair?”

“Not despair,” Mioda protested. “They’re spreading the word of how awesome Ibuki’s music is. Plus, they give her lots of cool footage to use in her music videos.”

He peered up at her and asked the damning question:

“So, you don’t care that you’re encouraging people to murder each other?”

“No. No, no, no! Ibuki’s friends aren’t murdering; they’re just expressing themselves. They’re celebrating how much they love her music. It’s not right for Ibuki to tell them how they can and can’t do it. It’s . . . Ibuki wants her fans to have a good time. She wants . . . she wants them to enjoy themselves . . . Ibuki just wants to play music.”

With each pause, more and more of her cheery visage fell away. She began to stutter in the last sentences, like a malfunctioning robot. He couldn’t see despair swirls yet, but if he pushed, he knew he would get them.

“Mioda-san, couldn’t you just play less despairful songs? Then you wouldn’t have to worry about what they’re going to do.”

“I can’t,” Mioda said. “That’s not what they want. The fans want despair. Ibuki has to give them despair!”

“No, you don’t,” he said softly. “You’re the musician. You’re the one running the show. What you decide is law. Besides, it’s still the same type of music, isn’t it? You’re just changing the lyrics. I’m sure they’ll still love it.”

“They only like despair,” Mioda mumbled, her mind far away. “They didn’t like Ibuki’s music before.”

“Mioda-san . . .”

“You covered your ears,” she said pointedly.

He wasn’t sure how he could answer that. It was true; he hadn’t liked what he heard. At that point, too, he hadn’t known it was about despair. It had just been . . . _that_.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting it. I’ve only ever been to a couple of concerts before, and those are pretty different than this. But Mioda-san, if you really want to play something else one day, I promise I’ll listen.”

“But Makoto-chan doesn’t like my music.” She looked at him seriously this time, almost frowning.

He chose his next words carefully. “It’s not what I usually listen to, but I don’t mind. As long as it’s something you like . . . it’s the least I can do. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Mioda watched him closely. Maybe he was just optimistic, but he felt like he was getting somewhere with her.

“Ibuki will think about it,” she declared. “Makoto-chan, you should back up, because it’s about to get loooouuuuuUUUUDDDDDD!”

. . . Yes, that seemed like a good idea right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I decided would be fun? Next chapter teasers!
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Tsumiki: *... is Tsumiki*  
> Naegi: Please save me.  
> Komaeda: *Decides to be a little shit instead*


	34. The Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to anyone who doesn't read the comments, this is not necessarily meant to be a romantic story. The Komaeda/Naegi tag is there because I was a silly, silly person who didn't understand the distinction between Komaeda/Naegi and the Komaeda & Naegi tag. It is still there because some people are tracking the story through it.

“Makoto, you need to eat your vegetables!”

“I know, I’m getting to them,” he said, as he dodged another one of Tsumiki’s attempts to thrust the spoon into his mouth. Honestly, he’d spent half of lunch trying to stop her from feeding him (Once! He’d let her do that _once!_ ) Tsumiki seemed to think he was playing hard to get or something though, and kept giggling. Komaeda sat across the cafeteria table, watching the two of them closely.

“Broccoli’s very healthy for you,” she said. “Even if you don’t like the taste, you still have to eat it.”

“I know.” Just to prove his point, he took _his_ fork, stabbed it into a stalk, and stuffed it in his mouth. Mouth full, he said, “See, I’m getting to them –”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. That’s very rude!”

He just couldn’t win with her sometimes.

“Look, Komaeda-kun ate all of his.” She pointed to his empty plate. “And I’m eating mine, too!”

With that, Tsumiki ate a mouthful herself. She made sure to make a loud ‘yum!’ when she swallowed.

Naegi looked to Komaeda. “Please save me.”

Komaeda tilted his head a degree as he considered that . . .

“Naegi-kun, you should really eat your vegetables.”

Goddamn it!

He ended up giving in, but he made sure to scowl very, very deeply as she fed him spoonful by spoonful. Neither Tsumiki nor Komaeda seemed to notice his displeasure though – that or they found it cute. With Tsumiki, he was definitely leaning towards the latter. At one point, Kuzuryu and Pekoyama walked in, and froze upon seeing them. They watched for a good few seconds before Kuzuryu rolled his eyes and muttered something about domestic idiots.

“There. Done,” he said. He turned to Komaeda. “Can I go now?”

Komaeda asked, “What do you think, Tsumiki-san?”

Tsumiki made a thoughtful noise as she dabbed at Naegi’s lips with a napkin. “Well, he did eat everything . . . Okay! You can go play now.”

He was up and out of there before she could change her mind.

But still not fast enough. Naegi was standing in the middle of the hallway, deciding which direction he wanted to bolt, when he heard a wheezy cough behind him. A weird creeping sensation slithered down his back, and Naegi slowly turned to see Komaeda there.

“Where were you going?” the Luckster asked curiously.

“I . . . nowhere, really. I didn’t have anywhere in mind.”

“Running off to go play, huh?” Komaeda sighed and shook his head. “I’ll admit, I’m a little surprised.”

There was no way this wasn’t a trap. “Why?”

“I thought you’d be thinking about your sister.”

That stopped any words dead in this throat. _Komaru_. What did he mean by that? She was always in the back of his mind, but why did Komaeda think he should be thinking about her now? Had something happened? Was she okay?

“Naegi-kun, do you want to speak to your sister?”

He nodded wordlessly (what else could he do?).

“Okay. I’ll let you, but you have to prove she’s not a distraction first.”

Of course. Anything. How could he let her down again?

Komaeda held his hand and led him to the chapel. He wasn’t going to make him recite that eulogy over her coffin, right? That probably wouldn’t go over well with the others . . . and Komaeda must have known that too. They entered the chapel (where Owari and Nidai were both sobbing loudly), and then Komaeda led him off to the side. There was a door there, and it led to a rectangular room. At the end of the room, was an old, wooden confessional that for some reason, appeared to be guarded by a Monokuma soldier.

“Do you know what to do with these?” Komaeda asked, as he opened one of the booth’s doors for him. Inside, one of the walls expanded into a small bench. On the opposing wall, the wall dividing the two booths, there was a window covered by a curtain.

“I’ve seen movies,” Naegi said.

“Close enough!”

Naegi entered the confessional . . . and Komaeda stepped in right after him. He actually stared at the Luckster, confused.

“They need to make these things bigger,” Komaeda said.

“. . . Yeah.”

The two sat down on the bench, Naegi positioned so that the window was right in front of him. He took a deep breath, heels digging into the ground. Gosh, this place was cramped. Komaeda was squeezed up next to him and if Naegi wasn’t careful, his elbow would dig into his side. Not only that, there was a funky smell he didn’t recognize.

Komaeda passed him the eulogy, and whispered, “Don’t where we are. Make sure you start properly!”

Naegi cleared his throat once. He’d never been in a confessional, but he had a vast movie experience.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned –”

He stopped, eyes bugging out. For when he had begun to speak, Komaeda had reached forward and moved the curtain, allowing him to see who occupied the other booth . . .

He could not see the man’s eyes. The man had no hair. He wore no hat, had no piercing or facial hair, or any other unique feature.  Naegi couldn’t even be sure what the shape of his head, or nose was like. But that was simply because the man had no skin. Dark red flesh, blotched from a stay in the freezer, replaced it. And the smell – oh god, the _smell_ – it was everywhere

The man had no skin, and that was how Naegi knew exactly who it was.

“Wh-why? _Komaeda-kun,_ _why –_?”

“Why?” Komaeda asked, smiling. Not only was he unaffected by the sight before him, he hadn’t seemed to notice the smell yet. “Isn’t it obvious? He deserves this more than anyone else.”

There were no eyes, he realized. He couldn’t remember Kuzuyru ordering the man to gouge out his eyes, but he must have. Maybe that was the squelching he had heard . . . no, that had been the cat o' nine. It was all blurred together in his head in an orgy of blood and terror –

“Naegi-kun, you didn’t forget, did you?” Komaeda asked. “Were you planning to pretend it never happened? Don’t you remember what you did to him?”

“I didn’t –”

“Look at him.” Komaeda grabbed the back of his hoodie, and nearly rammed his head through the window. “See what he sacrificed for you?”

“I didn’t . . . It wasn’t me . . . I’m _sorry_ -!”

“Look what you did to him,” Komaeda hissed into his ear. “He came to rescue you, didn’t he? Do you remember what happened next?”

The smell was everywhere and it _wouldn’t go away_.

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t want this –”

“ _Look at him_.” Komaeda shoved his head forward even more, and Naegi shut his eyes because if he got any closer, they were going to touch and he couldn’t handle that and he couldn’t do this and he can’t he can’t _he can’t –_

“Stop,” he croaked. “Please, don’t  . . .”

“You didn’t let him stop,” was all Komaeda said. And Komaeda was right and it was _true_ and he was useless and this was all his fault –

His tears burned as they fell down his face. He shook in Komaeda’s hold, teeth chattering. Some invisible force seemed to snap his eyes open, so that he could meet the eye-less sockets of the murdered. He noticed that something or somebody had stretched his non-existent lips into a smile, so that yellowed teeth showed.

He couldn’t look away. Even as tears blurred his vision, he couldn’t look away –

And Naegi screamed and finally collapsed.

Or he would have, if Komaeda didn’t have hold of his hoodie. He lifted Naegi back up like a hunter snatching up the corpse of his fallen prey. As he was lifted, the corpse naturally returned to the forefront of his vision. Until Komaeda mercifully turned him away so that he stared at the Luckster instead.

“Why did you let him die, Naegi-kun?”

“ _I don’t know_!” he howled, and buried his face in Komaeda’s chest.

Who knew how long Komaeda held him, rubbing his back? Naegi’s throat-wrenching sobs petered out into sniffles. Komaeda’s shirt had soaked up Naegi’s tears, and the salty smell of that mixed with the other teen’s natural scent masked the musk coming from the corpse. Naegi dug his fingers into the fabric, pulling so hard they could hear it stretch.

“The world is a terrible place sometimes,” Komaeda said. “Sometimes, you have to do terrible things. That’s what you had to do. Naegi-kun, you understand you had to let him die, right?”

Naegi looked up. “I . . . had to?” ~~~~

“Yes, you did.” Komaeda stroked his head once, thumb running over the rim of Naegi’s ear as if tucking a piece of hair behind it. “I know it was terrible, but you had to let him die. If you had stopped it, Kuzuyru-kun would have just killed him later in private, and that would be even worse. Letting him die there, when he did, was the best thing you could have done. Do you understand why?”

Naegi shook his head.

“If Kuzuryu-kun had killed him in private, then nobody would have known. He and Pekoyama-san wouldn’t have cared enough to remember. He would have died, and everybody would have forgotten. It would have been for nothing.

“But you’re not going to forget, are you? That’s why you had to do it. Now, he’s not forgotten. His memory is going to stay with you forever and ever. He’ll be with you when you spread hope. He _is_ hope, now. All that pain he went through, those horrible, horrible things that happened to him, they have meaning. It’s for hope.”

“Hope. . .” Naegi murmured. He stared straight at Komaeda, but couldn’t see him.

“Yes, hope. That’s why you had to stand back and let him die. It was for hope. It was the best outcome.”

~~I had to?~~

“I .  . . I don’t . . .” He rocked back and forth, eyes twitching like they were going to roll back into his skull.

~~He had to die?~~

 “Do you understand?” Komaeda asked.

~~Then . . . then it isn’t my fault?~~

 “. . . I’m not sure.”

Komaeda smiled. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for right now. Now, Naegi-kun. . .”

The eulogy was once more shoved into his hand.

“. . . There’s something you have to do.”

He recited the eulogy into Komaeda’s chest. The Luckster didn’t seem to mind, holding him gently. But when Naegi finished and looked up at Komaeda for approval, the white-haired teen pointed him towards the window again ( _the smell hit him like a tsunami, drowning out even sound_ ). Naegi’s breath hitched in his throat, and he couldn’t do this, he _couldn’t_ –

Komaeda pulled him back against his chest, hugging him from behind. The white-haired teen’s chin fit itself along the curve of his shoulder as Naegi found himself being rocked slowly back and forth. Komaeda’s breathing, right in his ear, was a steady, comforting thing. Naegi found himself hanging onto that just as tightly as he squeezed the other’s hand.

“You can do it,” Komaeda said. “You’re strong enough. I know you are.”

Naegi stared straight ahead, vision blurry and unfocused. ( _ ~~it’s okay. It’s not . . . not my fault?~~_ ) The corpse waited.

Slowly, his mouth opened.

Once again, he began to speak.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned . . .”

In the small space, his words were thunderous. But the dead did not mind. The man continued to stare at him with that gormless smile. Surely, it would have been too much to bear, if it hadn’t been for the strong thump of Komaeda’s heart against his back, the warmth emitting from the other teen, or the strong hand gripping his own. And Komaeda was keeping up a steady slew of praise and comfort that helped render him numb to what he was seeing. . .

“It’s alright, Naegi-kun. I know it’s hard.”

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re so strong.”

“I know you can do it. I have faith in you.”

“Make it right. Make it all right again.”

“It’s for hope.”

( _ ~~What are you doing? Why are you listening to him **STOP** –~~ )_

The last numb words slipped off his tongue. The paper stayed in his clammy grip as he stared ahead, unable to understand that it was over. The brush of Komaeda’s cheek against his was like holding his skin to a red coal. Yet he didn’t move away. Instead, his eyes slowly drifted shut. He could still feel Komaeda’s heartbeat, and it seemed to resonate throughout his body until it engulfed his own.

“Naegi-kun . . .” Naegi turned his head toward that voice. “It’s alright. We’re finished here.”

Komaeda guided him out of the confessional, patient and understanding even as Naegi fumbled and his legs wouldn’t move quite right. Once outside, he nodded to the waiting Monokuma soldier, and then moved so that he stood between it and Naegi as the soldier opened up the other side of the confessional booth and reached inside –

“You did a good job,” Komaeda said, holding Naegi’s head so that he couldn’t look past him and see the body being removed. “You did a very good job. That was very brave of you.”

“Brave . . . no, that wasn’t brave.”

“Of course it was. I don’t mean to offend, but do you think your friends could have done what you just did?”

He blinked slowly, the movement making him jump. “Kirigiri-san . . .”

“She could say it, but she wouldn’t mean it,” Komaeda said. “That’s the price of being the Ultimate Detective. She can’t love like you do. Nobody can. That’s why you’re special.”

“Special . . .” he muttered. The word seemed to stick in his mind ~~like a knife~~. “I’m not . . .”

“Yes, you are. Don’t you trust me?”

Trust . . . The single, simple word clogged his throat. Such a simple word . . . and so powerful. It was more than Naegi could grasp. Did he . . . trust Komaeda? What did that even mean, to trust?

“I trust my friends,” he said. “I trust my family. I trust them. I do. I do. I do –”

( _Was he talking, or was it all in his mind?_ )

“You said I was your friend once, remember?” Komaeda said giddily, looking like he would hug Naegi then and there.

Had he? He struggled to think. His memories seemed to be caught in a thick haze. But Komaeda . . . Komaeda said he had. Komaeda didn’t lie.

“I guess I did.”

“Then that must mean you trust me, too!”

Komaeda’s brilliant smile lit up his entire face. Naegi stared at it, still struggling to make sense of everything. But the happiness he saw was catching. If Komaeda wasn’t mad, then that meant nothing bad was going to happen.

“You understand, don’t you. You’re not like everyone else, Naegi-kun. You’re special.”

( _There was pressure in his head, pushing and pushing and pushing-)_

Naegi stared.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he smiled, too.

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

Komaeda laughed, bright and happy. Naegi did too without knowing why.

“You’re amazing,” Komaeda said. “I’m so honoured that I get to be part of this. I can’t . . . I can’t put into words just how much I love you. When I’m around you, I feel . . .”

Komaeda suddenly stepped closer to him. Hardly a hand’s-width separated them now. Naegi tilted his head up, exposing himself to the intense light of Komaeda’s grey-green eyes.

Komaeda’s voice barely passed as a whisper. “I . . . I want . . .”

Naegi stared up at him, continuing to wear his absentminded smile. Something ~~screamed~~ rang shrilly in the background. His heart was racing. He wondered why.

Komaeda’s breathing was heavy and hot on his skin. Naegi cocked his head, confused –

“Komaeda-kun?”

The sound of his own name seemed to shock Komaeda out of whatever trance he’d been in. The Luckster started laughing, but it sounded pained. He backed away from Naegi, clutching himself, staring down at his own arms wrapped around his body.

“To merely be in the same room as the Ultimate Hope, I should be content with that.” Komaeda began to sway, teeth showing as he grinned and exhaled loudly with reverence. He laughed, like it was his own private joke. Naegi still didn’t understand what was going on, but his heart was still pounding and starting to ache.

“Naegi-kun . . . do you want to speak to your sister?”

“Yes!” he bounded forward. His heart was facing even faster now but it was _good_. “You’re going to let me speak to her?”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Komaeda said. “You did a very good job. Do you remember where you spoke to her last time?”

Naegi nodded eagerly.

“Can you meet me there? I need a couple of minutes first to myself.”

Naegi ran off. The door slammed behind him, and then it was just Komaeda. Once he was alone, the Luckster unravelled his twitching arms from around his body, and stared at his open palm.

“Why did I . . . ? Ah, I shouldn’t have done that.” Komaeda closed his eyes and laughed, but there something dark to it this time. “I shouldn’t have stopped myself . . . it would have been so _easy_ . . .”

His eyes opened.

The swirls _glowed_.

“I could have made him–”

Komaeda slammed his head against the wall.

He did it twice more. Then slid down it until he landed on his knees. His arms were wrapped around him again as he stared blankly at the floor.

_~~Naegi-kun . . .~~ _

It was so quiet. The soldier had long cleared out with the body. It was only Komaeda and the confessional and the smell he could no longer notice.

_~~Why~~ _ ~~?~~

“He’s waiting for me.” Komaeda looked upwards, lost in his own mind. “Naegi-kun’s waiting for me.”

_~~Why can’t I stop?~~ _

“How rude of me to keep him waiting.”

_~~I'm not like them, so why do I . . .?~~ _

 “Ahahahahaha . . . I’m coming, Naegi-kun!”

_~~Why . . .?~~ _

 

 

 

 

 

_ ~~Why do I keep dreaming about hurting you?~~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
> 
> Komaru: Makoto, you look like shit.  
> Makoto: Wow thanks.  
> Komaru: Also, I think there's something wrong with you.  
> Makoto: Again, thanks.


	35. The Reminder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, it's exam time and I'll need to focus on that for a while. **There will be no new updates until December 18th**. That will also be the start of the second free time event arc, so it's good timing at least.

Naegi’s eyes were locked on the screensaver in front of him as he waited. His fingers were twitching, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to touch the computer. He actually sat on his hands because the temptation to touch it was that great. But no matter how badly he wanted to see his sister, he couldn’t afford to mess this up. If he went outside his boundaries, then Komaeda would take the computer away and he wouldn’t see her again. That wasn’t worth getting to speak to her a few seconds early.

He was still sitting on his hands when Komaeda returned. The white-haired teen looked at them, and then started laughing. He patted Naegi on the head like a dog before reaching over for the keyboard. Naegi bounced in his seat, face so close to the screen that Komaeda actually had to ask him to move back. The dial tone rang as Komaeda called his sister. Naegi held his breath, if he tried to inhale now, his lungs would probably pop. There was a bead of sweat tracing its way down his forehead.

Then finally, the screen burst into colour.

“Makoto?”

“Komaru!” His laugh was harsh and short, like a cough mixed with a hiccup. “Komaru, how are you?”

For whatever reason, his sister flinched back. Maybe she hadn’t actually thought the image she was seeing was real.

“I’m okay,” Komaru said slowly. “What about you? Are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” he said as Komaeda walked out of sight of the camera to let them have some privacy. “You don’t need to worry about me. Everything’s fine. But seriously, is everything alright with you?”

“I guess,” she said. “Nothing’s changed.”

She didn’t sound happy about that. Naegi traced the downwards curve to her lips, and something bubbled up inside him and made him twitchy.

“But they’re not hurting you or anything, right?” he asked, unable to stop himself from glancing at Komaeda to check. Komaeda smiled at him and waved.

“No,” she said, still speaking slowly. “I have food and stuff.”

“Well, that’s good.”

His sister didn’t say anything for a little while. One hand rubbing her elbow, she stared at some point off the side and mumbled, “Makoto, why is this happening to us?”

He opened his mouth. Then closed it. There wasn’t a way to explain, especially since he remembered that Komaru didn’t know about what had happened to Hope’s Peak.

( _In the corner of his vision, he saw Komaeda beginning to approach-_ )

He spoke. “Komaru, I know this seems really bad, but it could be a lot worse. A lot of things have happened. I don’t know how much you know, but things are pretty bad outside right now. The world’s not in good shape. But you’re safe, right? And you have food and everything and that’s more than most people out there can say.”

( _Komaeda had stilled. He stood there, just watching._ )

“Komaru, trust me. It’s going to be okay. The world’s a mess right now, but I’m . . . I’m going to fix it, and the moment I can, I’m going to come get you. But I need you to wait for me. I need you to stay safe until then.”

He glanced at Komaeda. The Luckster gave him a thumbs up.

Encouraged, he turned back to the screen. “Can you do that for me? Can you wait until I come to get you?”

Komaru stared at him. Bit by bit, as the silence drew on, Naegi felt his grin starting to chip.

“What if something happens before that?” she finally said. “I don’t know what they want. They could kill me tomorrow and–”

“They’re not going to do that!” Naegi wanted nothing more than to hug his sister and comfort her. That wasn’t possible though, so he settled for gripping the sides of the screen instead.  “Nobody’s going to hurt you. I promise I’m going to keep you safe.”

He was doing his best to be a good big brother and reassure her, yet . . . everything he was saying seemed to make it worse. It was a very, very good thing Komaeda hadn’t been standing behind him or he would have seen how his sister’s eyes had dilated as he spoke, or how her nails were digging into her arm. Naegi bit his lip, heart fluttering, feeling like he was on the verge of panic. What was he doing wrong?

“Hey. Hey, just relax.” He held a hand up, like he was dealing with a skittish animal. “Why don’t you just tell me what you don’t like about being there right now? Maybe I can pull some strings and get you some video games or something, or some better food. Just tell me what would make it better. Let me help you –”

“ _Stop it!_ ”

Komaru’s shriek was entirely unexpected. Naegi leapt back into his chair, and even Komaeda jumped.

“Sorry, sorry!” he squeaked out ~~to Komaeda~~. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just . . . I just want to help and –”

“Why are you speaking like that?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Naegi-kun . . .” Komaeda was creeping forward, although he seemed confused himself.

“Why are you speaking like you helped them?” Komaru asked.

He could _feel_ Komaeda tense up. Now Naegi _was_ panicking. He sprung forward and grabbed the screen, speaking frantically. “No, no, that’s not it! Komaru, I didn’t help them kidnap you or anything. I didn’t even know they had you until way afterwards. . . It’s not like that –!”

“You’re not talking like someone who was kidnapped.”

He stopped.

“Naegi-kun, it’s time to say goodbye,” Komaeda said firmly. He had one hand on the lip, just about to close the screen, but when Naegi didn’t say anything, he paused. “Naegi-kun?”

What had she said?

Did she mean it?

“Naegi-kun, I’m going to end the call now,” Komaeda tried again.

_When I was talking to her, did I really . . ._

“Kidnapped,” he whispered. “I was . . .”

_How could I have  . . .? How . . .?_

_How did I forget?_

He gasped for breath like he was drowning, wheezing. Komaru lunged towards the screen and Komaeda released the laptop and spun towards him in alarm. Both of them shouted his name. He didn’t hear him. All he could focus on was his increasingly shallow breaths and the lack of air –

“Naegi-kun!” Suddenly, Komaeda was right in front of him. He shoved the laptop away, and then grabbed Naegi’s face. “Naegi-kun, look at me. I need you to breathe with me. In. Out. Are you listening to me?”

He couldn’t – he reached for Komaeda’s face in turn, needing the contact. Komaeda’s hands immediately found their way to his wrists instead, positioning Naegi’s hands on his cheeks.

“You need to breathe with me. Can you do that?”

Naegi nodded frantically.

“Okay, good. Now, in. Out.”

Naegi took a deep shaky breath that turned into a whine. Komaeda squeezed his wrists, pressing Naegi’s palms further into his flesh before repeating the same instructions. Naegi obeyed, still nodding with a frantic edge as Komaeda spoke softly to him. His chest heaved in and out until he thought his ribs might crack. Black spots danced in his vision.

“Good, good. In. Out.”

He thought he might faint. But the spots were receding as air flowed into his starving lungs.

“Are you feeling better?” Komaeda asked.

Naegi was silent.

“Naegi-kun?” Komaeda gently brushed the back of his hand against his brow. “Naegi-kun, can you hear me?”

_What’s happening to me?_

“ . . . Can I have some water?”

Komaeda nearly fell over himself in his rush to comply. The door slammed shut, and Naegi was left alone in his chair. Head bowed, he sat there for nearly half a minute before he finally mustered the strength to lift his head.

He reached for the laptop.

Komaru was crying softly when he saw her. The moment his face came into view, she grabbed at the screen. “Makoto! Are you okay?”

He ignored her.

“Makoto? Makoto, can you hear me?”

He ignored her. He moved the cursor and opened up a browser.

“What’s going on? What happened to you?”

He typed in the Future Foundation’s name into the search bar, and clicked on the first link he saw. There . . . there had to be a way. There had to be a way to send tips or contact them or –

Ah, there it was.

“Makoto?”

Mechanically, he followed the instructions and typed in his message. He clicked the send button. He exited the browser, turned to look at his sister, and did his best to smile.

“It’s going to be okay now,” he said. “You’re going to be fine.”

“What are you –?”

“The Future Foundation’s going to save you. You don’t need to worry about me. Just . . . don’t give up, okay?”

“Makoto –?”

He closed the laptop.

He opened the door leading out, and started to run.

He wouldn’t have much time. If it wasn’t Komaeda, it would be the soldiers. If not them, the robots. If not the robots, the rest of Ultimate Despair. He tore through the halls, only lasting a few minutes before he picked up a tail. Just one soldier though. Surely, he could handle that. He needed . . . he couldn’t stay here any longer. He had to at least _try_.

_I’m not one of them._

_They kidnapped me._

**_I’m not one of them!_ **

“Red zone approaching,” the soldier, jogging at a leisurely pace behind him, said.

Naegi spun around. “Run to the other end of the hall and do ten push ups!”

The soldier whipped around and obeyed. Naegi inched his way to the other end as it did and when the soldier was in the middle of its fifth push up, he took off around the corner.

He heard its warning blaring after him. He ignored it. He knew this led to the front entrance and he had to _try_. He had to prove he hadn’t failed. He had . . . _he had to._

The entrance was surprisingly empty. It lent a grin to his face. Maybe this was his lucky day, because why else would the front entrance be completely empty –

Because the entire army was doing a training exercise in the courtyard, that’s why.

“Naegi Makoto,” droned the army. The soldier that had been chasing him caught up, and then teetered to a stop, satisfied that he was supervised again.

“The fuck?” Kuzuryu said. He and Pekoyama stood in front of the army, closest to Naegi. “What are you doing here?”

It would have been so easy to lie. It would have been so easy to make up an excuse, turn around, walk back inside and pretend this hadn’t happened. It would have been so, so easy.

Naegi did none of that, and instead ran for the open path to the city.

The shock of his footsteps echoed through his body. His own, ragged breathing smothered all other sound. The ruins lay hauntingly before him, so close, but never getting any closer. He pushed himself harder, _harder_ until he could think of nothing else.

_Just a little more. Just a little more. Almost there, almost there –_

(He wasn’t, of course).

Pekoyama slammed into him from the side. They hit the pavement with a crack. Pain blossomed around his hip, but he had no time for it. He twisted and thrashed, reaching a hand toward the destination that seemed so close –

“Naegi, what the hell are you doing?” Kuzuryu demanded, having just caught up.

“Please  . . . I  can’t . . . _please_!”

He burst into tears, curling up into a ball under Pekoyama’s body as the Swordswoman  and her master watched him with shock. His sobs came loud and violently, barely allowing him to draw a breath in-between.

“Naegi-kun?”

Yes. _Of course_ Komaeda had finally caught up. Because what else did he need?  Why didn’t they all dress up as Togami and lambast him while they were at it?

He curled up tighter and wailed louder, until the lack of oxygen finally caught up with him and he passed out.

* * *

He awoke with his wrists bound behind his back. There were rails on either side of the bed he laid on, keeping him from rolling off. It really was overkill, considering he was also strapped down.

There was a thick leather strap over his chest, hips, and legs, effectively pinning him. He was no longer wearing his hoodie, having been dressed instead in some light pyjamas, so he could feel the straps through the fabric. He didn’t bother trying to escape. He knew it wouldn’t work, and he didn’t have the energy either. He shifted from side to side instead, trying to relieve the pins and needles pricking in his hands that came from an inadequate blood flow. What had happened? The last few minutes before he passed out were hazy. He remembered what came _before_ though. Komaru. They had been speaking. He had had that small argument with her, and she had opened his eyes. He didn’t understand what exactly, but _something_ was happening to him.

He . . .

He was  . . .

He was scared.

It wasn’t his fault, right? It wasn’t like he had given up or anything. He’d just been busy. He’d been too busy dealing with things like hospital stays, dead bodies, and a seriously messed-up upper classmate. It wasn’t his fault, right? Anyone would have been distracted.

Still, the greasy, black coils of betrayal swirled deep in his mind. He felt filthy. Rotten. Underserving of sympathy. Caught in the grip of Ultimate Despair, he had just laid back and taken it. He’d scared his sister. What would she say if she had known the truth? What would his _parents_ think?

Thinking of them made his lip quiver. He knew what had become of his friends, of his sister. His parents were the only unknown. Even Komaeda hadn’t said anything about them. They could be anywhere. They could be . . .

He sniffed loudly, straining at the binding around his wrists. Whatever material they used, it was soft but strong. He pulled at it futilely for a little while more, before giving up and falling back with a sob. Useless. Useless, useless, useless!

_They must be pretty mad to do something like this_ , he thought as he raised his chest a little and the leather strap pushed back. It actually cheered him up. This was proof. This here, these restraints were proof that he was still trying. He still had hope. He wasn’t broken.

Now, he just had to live through whatever punishment came next.

* * *

The boardroom was dark and quiet. Kuzuryu sat at the head of a long table, feet on the surface as he scowled. Down the sides of the table sat other members of Ultimate Despair, most seeming confused. Komaeda though was hunched over, chin pressed into the table as he tried to appear as small as possible. Pekoyama lingered close to a keyboard, staring at a screen above and behind Kuzuryu. The door to the boardroom opened suddenly, tearing her attention away from the screen. Once her sharp eyes determined the newcomer was no threat however, she returned her gaze to its original target.

“About time you got here!” Kuzuryu said to the newcomer. “We’ve all been waiting for you.”

Nidai laughed heartily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry! I was taking a shit. What’s all this about, anyway?”

Kuzuryu snapped his fingers.

Pekoyama bowed, and then began to type into the computer. On the screen behind Kuzuryu, the view of one of the outside security cameras became visible. Ultimate Despair watched silently as footage played, and the petit form of Naegi Makoto ran out of the main building, and then bolted towards the ruins like a frightened rabbit. He hadn’t gotten far, and the camera had recorded the instant Pekoyama had tackled him, and his increasingly erratic struggles afterwards. She finally shut the video off once Naegi stopped moving.

“Oi, what was that?” Owari asked.

“That’s why we’re fucking here,” Kuzuryu explained. “Anybody want to explain what the hell happened?”

“Umm . . . I-if I’m allowed to speak . . . I was talking to Komaeda-kun about Naegi’s behaviour before this happened, and after watching this video . . . It sounds like he was having a panic attack. Apparently, he had one earlier when he was with Komaeda-kun,” Tsumiki said. She tapped her index fingers together as she waited to be yelled at.

Kuzuryu drummed his fingers on the table. “Guess that fits with what I saw. Peko?”

“I agree,” she said. “The symptoms match.”

“Great. So, Komaeda, why the fuck was he having a panic attack?”

Komaeda winced. He lifted his head slowly, like he was being asked to raise it into the sights of a sniper. “Right before his first panic attack, he. . .”

Kuzuryu waited. When Komaeda was not cooperative, he prompted, “Yes?”

“. . . He got the idea stuck in his head that he had been kidnapped.”

Kuzuryu swore, hands slamming down on the table. The Imposter too, sighed deeply, pinching his nose.

“So, what? The kid thinks we’re going to eat him or something?” Owari asked.

“Don’t be absurd,” the Imposter said.

“Yeah. Who would want to try to cook something as scrawny as him anyways?” Saionji said. “You might as well go gnaw on a bone.”

“Owari’s got a point though,” Kuzuryu said. “Kidnapping and good things don’t usually go together. If he’s suddenly convinced we’ve kidnapped him, that’s probably what’s got him all riled up.”

“But didn’t Nagito-chan snatch him off the streets?” Mioda said. “And we aren’t letting Makoto-chan leave, right?”

“It’s not kidnapping, it’s protective custody!” Kuzuryu snapped. “There’s a big difference.”

“I calmed him down,” Komaeda mumbled. “He was fine when I left him.”

“Eh? You l-left after his panic attack,” Tsumiki said. “You shouldn’t have done that. He probably relapsed!”

“So this is all your fault!” Soda shouted at Komaeda.

Suddenly, there was a whole bunch of shouting, most of it directed at Komaeda. Komaeda shrunk down into his seat, but didn’t say anything to defend himself. It didn’t quell the shouting. Nothing did, until Kuzuryu glanced at Pekoyama, and she slammed her sword _through_ the table.

Kuzuryu  said, “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore. What’s important is making sure this gets cleared up.”

“Alright, so let’s all go to the infirmary right now and tell Naegi-kun we aren’t kidnappers!” Nidai said. pumping his fist.

“It won’t work,” the Imposter said. “If Naegi truly believes we are keeping him captive, then he has no reason to believe what we tell him.”

“Then what are we going to do,” Hanamura asked.

There was a short silence. Then Komaeda _carefully_ spoke up. “Yesterday, I had to tell him that I loved him. He didn’t understand. He thought I had just been using him.”

“First off, you’re a creepy bastard,” Kuzuryu said bluntly, “but I get your point. Alright, the kid doesn’t think we care about him.”

“He d-doesn’t? But I’ve tried so hard to take care of him and . . . I’m soooooorrrrryyyyy!”

As Tsumiki wailed into her hands, Nidai patted her on the back. “Hey, now. This is a team effort. It’s everyone’s fault.”

Once again, Kuzuryu snapped his fingers as his eyes lit up with an idea. “I’m going to hire an assassin to kill him!”

Almost everyone had something to say to that, but two voices rose above the din.

“Kuzuryu-kun, I know my opinion is trash, but you need to listen to me!”

“Nooo! If you touch him, I’ll . . . I’ll do something terrible to you!”

“Okay you two . . . calm the fuck down.” Though his voice was steady, Kuzuryu leaned away from the irate Nurse – even though Pekoyama was already at his side with her sword drawn in Tsumiki’s direction. “I’m going to give the assassin a specific time and method, okay? And when he shows up ready to do the deed . . . I’m going to blow his brains out and save Naegi’s life! He can’t accuse me of not caring after that.”

“Good idea!” Owari said. “I’m going to do that too –”

“Get your own idea! We can’t all hire assassins. Hey, when’s Tanaka getting here?”

“He should be here this evening,” the Imposter said.

“Alright, good. He’s got Naegi’s friend with him, which means we can prepare to move him out of Kamukura’s room. Have Nevermind and Koizumi made their pit stop?”

“They got there yesterday,” Hanamura said.

Kuzuryu nodded. “Soda, get them to send you some pictures, and get working on his new room.”

“I can do that!” Soda said, wielding his trusty wrench.

“You, take this.” Kuzuryu tossed a pair of handcuffs at a surprised Tsumiki.

“What’s this? Is this a very _particular_ confession we’re witnessing?” Hanamura asked.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s to make sure Naegi doesn’t run off again.” To Tsumiki, Kuzuryu said, “You can unstrap him and untie his wrists. Cuff him to the bed and tell him you’re keeping him there to observe his mental health or whatever. Just make we have a captive audience for the next few days. The rest of you, take a break from work and figure out what you’re going to do, because _we’re going to make sure he fucking likes us_.”

The entire room cheered. Outside in the hall, where the voices inside the boardroom could be heard clearly, a figure stirred against the wall. The figure blinked and tilted their head slowly.

“. . . Interesting,” Kamukura said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
> 
> Naegi: So, this "friend" I'm about to meet ...  
> Tsumiki: He’s very smart! Well, he is considering . . . but I’m sure he’ll be lots of fun to play and cuddle with. He’ll keep all those nasty Future Foundation members away, too!  
> Naegi: You really aren't making me feel better, you know?


	36. The "Friend"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaack! Welcome to the second FT event arc, and the entrance of two more characters.

How fitting that his ‘mother’ would be the one to punish him. At least, that’s what Naegi thought when Tsumiki walked into the room. He put on something close to a fierce face, limbs growing tense in anticipation. He’d seen firsthand what Ultimate Despair was capable of when they were feeling vengeful. How they would respond to his attempted escape would be –

Tsumiki leaned over him, and started undoing the straps.

Oh.

Even when they were all undone, he didn’t move, suspicious. It wasn’t until Tsumiki started tugging at his wrists and untying them that he started to believe this may be for real. Once they were free, he lifted his arms in front of him, letting the chafed skin breathe. He didn’t even see the handcuffs until after Tsumiki had locked one end to the bedrail, and then grabbed his arm.

“I’m sorry!” she squealed as she snapped the other end around his wrist. “But you really scared everyone and they’re very concerned. We want to p-put you under observation for a few days.”

Sure they did. He laid back down, resigned. He didn’t bother checking if he would escape the cuffs.

“We got you padded ones but, umm, try not to pull at them too much. They’ll dig into your skin.”

“Great,” he deadpanned.

He stared at the ceiling. What a lovely, mottled, cracked pattern they had going on there. He was tempted to roll far away from Tsumiki, curl up, shut his eyes and simply not exist for a while, but the cuff’s reach wasn’t enough to let him do that. So he laid there, resolutely ignoring the Nurse at his side, neither thinking nor feeling.

At least until he heard her crying.

“Mikan?”

Tsumiki sniffled loudly. “I’m sorry! I know . . . this is all my fault! I’m the one who made you run away!”

Where did that logic even come from? Naegi propped himself up, totally lost when it came to what was causing the breakdown in front of him.

“Mikan, what are you talking about?”

“Komaeda-kun told us,” she said and for a moment, his heart stopped. “You panicked and ran away because you’ve recently started thinking of this as a kidnapping. A-and recently, you’ve been spending the most time with Komaeda-kun and I; but you’ve been with Komaeda-kun from the beginning so it must be me . . .”

He almost said something about the ‘recently’ remark, but then she sobbed again. It wasn’t the loud wailing he had witnessed by Enoshima’s corpse, but the muffled sounds of one trying desperately to hold it together. It hurt to hear.

“I’m sorry, _I’m sorry!_ I know I’m not good enough. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I’m never good enough!”

“Mikan!” He tried to get up, but the handcuff bit into his wrist and kept him down. “That’s not true. It wasn’t your fault!”

“N-no, it is. I know it is.” Tsumiki was hugging herself, teeth digging into her lower lip until he saw blood. “I’m never good enough. I’m useless. Everyone hates me because I’m so disgusting. That’s why they . . . that’s why nobody –”

“ _Stop it!_ ” he cried out. He couldn’t stand this, especially after today. “Stop saying that. You’re not useless!”

Her eyes swirled. “I am! I know I am. I am, I am –”

He. . . he couldn’t do this anymore. Not today. Not after what had happened.

“ _Mikan, you’re not useless_!”

He grabbed Tsumiki by the collar and _pulled_. That quieted her. Their heads swung towards each other, nearly colliding. Tsumiki’s eyes were wide with shock from the unexpected aggression. Naegi maintained his grip, panting.

“You are not useless,” he hissed. “Do you remember who diagnosed me with malnutrition?”

“That’s wasn’t . . . I . . .”

“Yes, it was. It was _you_.” He swallowed hard, searching her face. How could he make her _see_? How coud he make her understand? “Even before you knew for sure, you told Komaeda-kun I needed to go to the infirmary. Don’t you remember that?”

“That doesn’t . . .”

“Yes, it does! If it wasn’t for you and your attention, if you didn’t keep bringing me my meals and making sure I ate, I’d still be starving myself, wouldn’t I? I’d already lost over ten pounds by the time you took action. How much more do you think I would have lost before somebody else noticed something was wrong?”

Her eyes were still watery. “Komaeda-kun . . .”

“No. He didn’t want to take me to the infirmary, remember? He didn’t know anything was wrong. He was going to make it worse.” His grip shifted on her collar as he fought back the urge to shake her. “Don’t you see? It was all you. _You_ helped me. _You_ protected me. Nobody else. You are _not_ useless!”

“M-Makoto . . .”

“Just . . . please stop saying that stuff about yourself. _Please._ ”

Ah, now it was his turn to tear up. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, before opening his mouth again.

“Mikan, you’re not the terrible person you say you are. You’re wonderful and smart and helpful . . . I don’t understand why you can’t see that.” He choked back a sob. “I just . . . I just want you to understand. You’re a great person. You’re not a loser, and I want you to stop saying you are. _Please_.”

There was a long silence. Tsumiki reached up and gently pushed his hands away.

“Makoto . . . you are a very kind person. You’ve always been much n-nicer to me than I deserve.”

He bit back a keen of frustration. Just in time too, as Tsumiki was not done speaking.

“But if it upsets you this much, I . . . I’ll try to stop saying those things about myself.”

He looked at her, waiting for her to take it back. When she didn’t, he spoke with awe.

“Really?”

She nodded. “Yes. But there’s something I want to ask you, too. . .”

He struggled to steady his voice. “What’s that?”

Tsumiki gulped. “Next time you’re feeling as upset as you did earlier, I want you to come tell me, okay? Y-you shouldn’t have to deal with those feelings all by yourself.”

“ . . . Alright. I think I can do that.”

“Thank you.” She kissed his forehead. “I . . . I w-worry about you a lot. You’re very important to me.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. As long as you’re feeling better now.”

The handcuffs didn’t offer much room to manoeuvre, but he still managed to get close enough to Mikan to lay his head against her shoulder. She threaded her fingers in his hair, working them through knots and tangles that had formed during Naegi’s reckless flight. Under her breath, she hummed a lullaby. He wasn’t sleepy, but he closed his eyes and listened anyways.

“Are the others mad at me?”

“Nobody’s mad,” Tsumiki promised. “Everybody’s worried. They didn’t expect something like this to happen. Komaeda-kun thinks it’s his fault.”

“It’s not his fault,” Naegi said. ( _ ~~He was saying that out of self-preservation, right? Right~~_ ~~?~~ ) “It’s mine. I lost sight of . . . things.”

“Shh, don’t say that.” Her nails grazed his scalp. It felt nice. “It’s not your fault. We know we’ve been distant. It’s no wonder you feel so alone. But we’re going to be better for you, okay?”

“You don’t need to do that. I’m . . .”

_I don’t belong here._

“We want to,” Mikan said. “Nobody wants you to think they don’t care. Everyone loves you very, very much.”

( _What did that even mean, to love? What did it mean anymore?_ )

“I brought your bunny.”

Naegi happily accepted the stuffed animal, and clutched it close to his chest. His cheek rubbed against the worn fabric.

“Mikan . . . can I have some hot chocolate?”

* * *

“Where’s Komaeda-kun?”

Naegi’s question rang through the infirmary like it was deserted. Tsumiki looked up from where she had placed their empty mugs, and walked back over.

“Umm, I don’t know. He might still be with the others.”

“They’re letting Komaeda-kun hang out with them,” he said, surprised. Usually, the other members of Ultimate Despair were rather mean to the Luckster.

“Yes, they are discussing . . . recent events.”

Oh. That made sense. Komaeda had been with him before he tried to run away, so it made sense that Ultimate Despair would interrogate him. They would probably want to figure out what exactly had set him off and how to make sure it didn’t happen –

No.

No.

No, _no, no!_

“M-mikan . . .” His voice trembled so much, he had to start again. “What did Komaeda-kun tell you?”

Tsumiki looked away, fidgeting. “That you two were having an argument. And you . . . you got confused and thought we were kidnapping you. Then you had a p-panic attack and Komaeda-kun helped you, but then he left and you relapsed . . .”

“That’s it?” he said quietly.

“Umm, that’s most of it?”

Had his hand been over the bunny’s eye, he would have cracked it with how hard he was squeezing. So, that was the claim. Komaeda had taken the fall. He hadn’t exposed Naegi’s contact with his sister. The secret was safe. Only he and Komaeda knew.

. . . But that still didn’t mean Komaru was safe.

“Are you sure Komaeda-kun’s with them?” Naegi asked. “You’ve been here for a while. What if they’ve finished talking and he’s gone off somewhere?”

“Are you wondering why he hasn’t come to see you?” Tsumiki asked. “Oh, he’ s not mad at you, Sweetie. He’s upset with himself and needs some time alone.”

“But . . . but what’s he doing? Komaeda-kun . . . he . . .  I can’t . . .”

There was nothing more he could say. He couldn’t reveal to her why he needed to see Komaeda. She would go after Komaru if she knew. But he _needed_ to see Komaeda. He needed to know the Luckster wasn’t angry and wouldn’t go after –

“You can stop worrying. He’s not thinking about that.”

Tsumiki jumped. “Ah! Kamukura-kun!”

Kamukura stood in front of the table that Tsumiki had left the mugs on. Neither of them had heard him enter, but that was pretty par for the course. His red eyes bore into Naegi as he repeated his earlier words.

Naegi nodded, and sunk into the bed. If Kamukura said Komaeda wasn’t going after Komaru, then he could trust it was true.

“D-did you want something from us?” Tsumiki asked. She squealed in fear when Kamukura just stared at her.

“I haven’t seen you out of your room in a while,” Naegi said casually. Kamukura just stared at him, too.

“Not like th-there’s anything wrong with that!” Tsumiki said quickly. She made a show of pushing him down and tucking in the blanket – conveniently blocking Naegi from Kamukura’s view at the same time. “Makoto was just making an observation.”

“Mikan –!” Naegi yelped as he was pushed down again.

“. . . I really don’t care,” Kamukura said.

As Tsumiki stood there nervously, Naegi asked, “Am I allowed to sit up now?”

Apparently, yes, for Naegi was allowed to do so without much fuss. He asked Kamukura, “What are you doing here?”

(In the background, Tsumiki whined in distress)

In answer, Kamukura glanced at a clock. “You should head to the entrance hall. He’ll be here soon.”

“Who?” Naegi asked.

“Ah, another member of the family.” Mikan giggled. “And a friend for you!”

So, it had come to this moment. Naegi swallowed, and mentally bolstered his courage. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? It wasn’t like it would be someone who would hurt him. Ultimate Despair wouldn’t allow that. They wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.

( _Only physically though. Mentally was an entirely different story_ ).

He almost thought Tsumiki would make him use the wheelchair, but after she undid the handcuffs, she took his hand and began leading him out of the infirmary. Just before the door shut behind them, Naegi turned and looked back. The longhaired teen was still standing where Naegi had last seen him, watching them. Kamukura didn’t look like he was following, but who knew what he had planned.

“So,” Naegi said as they continued to walk, “what’s this friend like?”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll like him,” Mikan said in a reassuring tone that was not very reassuring. “He’s just for you!”

“Just for me,” Naegi repeated in a small voice.

“He’s very smart! Well, he is considering . . . but I’m sure he’ll be lots of fun to play and cuddle with. He’ll keep all those nasty Future Foundation members away, too!”

“Can you tell me who it is?”

Tsumiki held a finger to her lips. “It’s a surprise!”

That didn’t make him feel any better. He wanted to slink into a corner and disappear.

When they arrived in the entrance hall, they weren’t alone. Pekoyama and Kuzuryu were standing in the open door, the Yakuza looking very impatient as he tapped his foot and crossed his arms. Upon hearing Naegi and Tsumiki’s steps, Pekoyama placed her hand on her sword’s pommel and looked at them, relaxing once she saw there was no threat. Within ten minutes, the rest of Ultimate Despair arrived.

Well, _almost_ all of Ultimate Despair arrived.

“Where’s Komaeda-kun?” Naegi asked.

“I don’t know –” Tsumiki started.

“Nagito-chan said he had something to do earlier,” Mioda piped up. “It’s like he disappeared!”

If Kamukura hadn’t reassured him earlier that Komaeda wasn’t going after his sister, Naegi surely would have jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

A walkie-talkie crackled on Soda’s waist. The Mechanic lifted it to his ear and after listening, made the announcement:

“Alright, looks like Tanaka-kun has entered the city!”

Tanaka . . . that was Tanaka Gundham, Ultimate Breeder, right? He was another member of Ultimate Despair. Naegi waited for Soda to announce who was with him – this _friend_ he was supposed to meet – but Soda remained quiet. Was Ultimate Despair that intent on keeping it a secret? Or did they simply think this other person wasn’t worth mentioning?

“. . . Is Komaeda-kun not coming?” Naegi asked.

“I don’t know,” Tsumiki answered.

A few more minutes passed. Kamukura appeared, but lingered near the back.

Then, in the middle of the entrance, a figure appeared.

Tanaka Gundham was a frightening figure. His long, black jacket seemed to suck up any light around him, even as his ghostly pale skin emitted its own. A grey, tattooed scar ran up and through his left eye, which was closed as he strode forward confidently. At first, Naegi merely thought that Tanaka happened to be wearing a fluffy scarf; although that was a purple scarf he saw (the only bit of colour in this monochrome show), he realized the fluffiness he saw wasn’t manufactured. Some sort of animal had curled around Tanaka’s neck, hissing as it dug claws into its master’s black hair.

Although both his eyes were closed, Tanaka still managed to walk right up to Naegi. There, his eyelids snapped open, and the sudden gleam of red seemed to temporarily blind him. Before he could say anything, Tanaka dropped to one knee, bowing his head as his arm swept out in an exaggerated manner.

“Uh, hello?” Naegi said.

Tanaka stood without making a sound. He towered above Naegi, and Naegi squirmed and flinched backwards into Mikan as the Breeder looked him over.

“I’m Naegi Makoto,” he said. He awkwardly held his hand up for a handshake.

The Breeder did not accept the hand. Instead, Tanaka put his hands on Naegi’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. Hardly a moment later, the Breeder’s eyes closed and a small smile appeared. Tanaka nodded to himself, and then stepped back, apparently content.

“Tanaka-kun doesn’t speak,” Tsumiki whispered to him. “That’s his despair.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, silly!” Tsumiki said. “Keep talking to him. It makes him despair when he can’t answer.”

Naegi was about to say something when –

“Ah, I see Naegi-kun hasn’t met his new friend yet.”

“Komaeda-kun!” Naegi spun around, nearly dashing out from Mikan’s watchful eye and toward the Luckster. Komaeda looked no different than normal. Naegi wasn’t sure why he had thought it would be otherwise.

Two huge hands suddenly passed in front of his eyes. He felt more than heard Nidai’s laughter as the Coach said, “Don’t look, Naegi-kun! We can’t let you ruin the surprise.”

So this was it. Time to face the music. He let Nidai turn him around, obeyed the order to shut his eyes, and quieted his mind even as the others giggled around him. Surprises were bad. He knew that. But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He had an audience and it was his time to perform.

He didn’t know how long he waited there. The others had grown quiet at this point. He thought he could hear rustling and breathing, but that could have been from anyone. Someone’s hands were on his shoulder; by the size, he suspected they were Nidai’s.

( _Strangely enough, although his eyes were shut, he could still feel_ exactly _where Komaeda was_ )

Warm, humid air suddenly blasted his face. It stunk.

“Okay, open your eyes!” Nidai ordered.

Naegi did.

He blinked.

He blinked again, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“Th-that’s . . . that’s . . .”

“Do you like him?” Tsumiki asked anxiously.

And Naegi found his voice.

“You got me a _bear_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
> 
> Naegi: You know, bears are my favourite animal.  
> Tanaka: *Loves bears too*  
> Naegi: ... Wanna be friends?


	37. The Breeder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys will probably notice that Tanaka seems rather... benign(?) compared to the rest of Ultimate Despair. That's because I'm trying to follow DR3 canon where Despair!Tanaka clearly still had an affinity for animals and apparently did not butcher his hamsters. So he's basically only interested in despair that comes from people.

That was a bear.

There was a bear standing in front of him.

Ultimate Despair had gotten him a frigging pet _bear_.

“Do you like him?” Tsumiki asked.

“That’s a bear!”

“Well, duh.” Owari scratched her head. “Didn’t you say bears were your favourite animal?”

“I did, but . . . that’s a _bear_!”

“Does that mean . . .?” Tsumiki was all small and fidgety like a mouse. “Do you not like him?”

Naegi couldn’t answer. He was too busy staring at the _bear_.

Then, Tanaka stepped forward. He covered his hand in his scarf so he would not touch Naegi’s skin directly, and then took hold of Naegi’s wrist. His grip was firm but gentle, the mark of one who had spent a lifetime handling shy animals. Confidently, Tanaka moved Naegi’s arm forward, until it was an inch away from the bear. He lifted Naegi’s arm then, and moved it down and forward so that his palm lay flat on the snout. Warm air brushed the underside of his arm as the bear sniffed. When Tanaka took his guiding hand away, Naegi stood there and curled his fingers into the fur.

“ . . . He’s a bear,” Naegi said in awe.

The bear had hardly moved since Naegi had touched him, not really seeming to care. He was brown but in the sunlight, his back and face shone a bronzed gold. And he was _huge_. Naegi didn’t think he was full-grown, but he appeared to be at least 700 pounds, probably a lot more. He had no way of telling how old the bear was, but it was already up to his chin in height. The fur on the snout was thin, but Naegi could tell just by looking that if he pressed his hand against the back, it would have disappeared into the bear’s coat.

The bear tilted his head up a little, and sniffed Naegi’s face. A large tongue poked out between strong jaws as the bear licked its lips once, and began to pant. His breath honestly didn’t smell all that great and his fur carried the scent of BO, but Naegi didn’t flinch.

“What’s his name?” he asked Tanaka giddily, forgetting the Breeder couldn’t talk. But that was okay, because Hanamura could speak for him.

Hanamura said, “That, my friend, is the wonderful Monokuma!”

. . . Because of course he was.

“Yeah, because apparently Tanaka hasn’t bred any half-black, half-white bears and he doesn’t have trained pandas.” Owari scowled as she spoke, as if what she was asking of Tanaka was perfectly reasonable.

“Kuma,” Naegi said firmly, compromising. “I’m going to call him Kuma.”

“So you like him!” Mikan said eagerly.

Naegi raised his other hand. Before he could touch, Kuma closed his mouth over the exposed arm. There was a moment of fear, but Kuma seemed content to simply hold his arm and Naegi relaxed.

“I do like him,” he said. He frowned suddenly. “What’s that around his neck?”

It appeared to be some sort of collar, like one of those radio collars scientists used to track animals. Tanaka shook his head rapidly as Naegi reached for it. Naegi hesitated, and then withdrew his hand. Apparently, he wasn’t supposed to touch it.

“Oh, I’m sure you two will have so much fun together!” Tsumiki said. “And now you won’t be so lonely, either.”

Naegi laughed uncertainty. “Yeah, I guess. Honestly, I’m not sure how to play with a bear though.”

Nidai laughed loudly. “That’s easy. You wrestle, of course. Let me show you!”

Nidai charged. Yet even the Coach’s super strength wasn’t enough to do more than nudge Kuma. The bear blinked slowly as Nidai put his head down like a bull and pushed at his side. Kuma released Naegi’s arm, turned his head and sniffed the Coach thoroughly from shoulder to shoulder as he continued his futile attack. After what seemed to be a moment of thought, the bear moved. Nidai stumbled forward and with a single paw, Kuma knocked Nidai to the floor and held him there.

“I’M NOT GIVING UP YET!” the Coach declared. He struggled valiantly, but to no avail.

Tanaka finally stepped forward and patted Kuma’s back. The bear almost instantly removed his weight from Nidai, leaving a panting, very exhausted Coach.

“Whew.” Nidai wiped his forehead. “Next time, I’ll get you.”

Kuma blinked.

“Alright, there’s nothing more to see here,” Kuzuryu said suddenly. “You can all stop standing around.”

“Let’s go back to the infirmary,” Tsumiki said to Naegi, her hand on his back. Naegi nodded, turning to follow her. Not far away, Komaeda turned too and started in the opposite direction –

“Komaeda-kun, you’re not coming?” Naegi asked, confused.

“Sorry, but I have some work I need to do,” Komaeda said. “Although I really shouldn’t say work. That would imply I’m actually competent enough to do something useful for the others, and we all know that something that simple is beyond trash like me.”

Naegi frowned again. ( _He wondered whether if throwing a fit like he had with Mikan would stop Komaeda from saying those things about himself, too._ )

Kuma trudged after him and Tsumiki, seeming to understand whom his new owner was. Naegi glanced back at the hulking animal, and he could only think of one thing . . .

“Can I ride on him?”

Nobody said anything. Naegi stared at the ground. He was about to speak up, admit that his question had been a dumb one and he was going to take it back –

Hands grabbed him from behind.

Nidai was still too exhausted from ‘wrestling’ with Kuma, so Soda and Owari appeared to have taken it upon themselves to lift him. They lifted Naegi high enough so that he could grab the shaggy fur on Kuma’s back, and then scramble aboard. He settled down just beyond the hump created by Kuma’s shoulders.

“You comfortable up there?” Soda asked. He had cupped his hands around his mouth, as if Naegi was far off in the distance.

“Yeah, I’m great!” Naegi said, already grinning like a maniac.

“Okay, let’s go, Kuma!” Tsumiki ordered.

The two of them set off, Mikan leading. And Naegi held onto Kuma’s fur, grinning widely.

He was riding a _bear_!

* * *

Kuma seemed to be a patient sort. At least, that’s what Naegi thought as the bear sat by his bed and waited for Naegi to feed him treats. Which he did, of course. How could he not? Which is why half of Naegi’s lunch ended up disappearing down the bear’s throat. Mikan finally looked up from where she was mixing medicines to see Kuma claim the last bite. Naturally, she wasn’t happy about it.

“Oh, Makoto!” She rushed forward, as if she could somehow reach into Kuma’s mouth and pull Naegi’s lunch back out. “That was supposed to be for you.”

“I know, but look at him. I bet he needs tons of food, and he’s probably starving after travelling so far.”

“I’m sure Tanaka-kun took good care of him,” Tsumiki said. Unable to retrieve his lunch, she comforted herself instead by smoothing out Naegi’s blanket.

“Sorry! I wasn’t trying to insult Tanaka-kun.”

Tsumiki smiled at him, and then looked over his shoulder. “See, Tanaka-kun? He believes in you, too.”

. . . Crap. Naegi twisted at the waist toward the infirmary doors. Tanaka was indeed there, apparently having just entered. A little beyond his shoulder, Kamukura lurked silently.

The Breeder marched forward with that same, confident gait he had introduced himself with. He stopped on the other side of the bed from Kuma, and crossed his arms. Naegi looked down as Tanaka stared at him. He had the distinct feeling that he was being scolded.

“Fine. I won’t feed him my lunch anymore.”

Tanaka suddenly reached into his jacket and produced a bag of marshmallows.

“Why –?”

Naegi’s question was answered when Kuma made a sound of what he thought was excitement. The bear leaned forward over Naegi’s bed as Tanaka groped inside the bag, and the moment the treat was offered, Kuma lapped it up.

“Ah, so marshmallows are the designated bear treats!” Naegi said, his conclusion supported by Tanaka’s nod. “What do I do for his regular meals?”

At that, Tanaka reached again into his jacket . . . and pulled out a long sheet of paper. Naegi’s eyes widened.

“Uh . . .”

Tanaka lifted his arm to hide his mouth, and his shoulders bounced in a way that could only mean laughter.

Naegi laughed a little, too. “Okay, I’m glad you’re handling it. I don’t think I could follow all these instructions.”

Nearby, Tsumiki sighed as she stared at the empty tray. “I’m going to ask one of the Monokumas to bring you more food. Please eat it this time.”

Naegi’s smile wavered as he remembered how she and Hanamura had planned his meals just for him. “Sorry, I didn’t –”

“I understand,” she said. A smile tugged at her lips. “You were too excited. Just don’t let it happen too often, okay?”

Naegi smiled. He patted Kuma’s head. “Got it.”

Kuma liked scratches behind the ears. That he discovered on his own. But once he did, Tanaka gave him a crash course on where to devote his time. Through it, Naegi noticed he was awfully skittish about making skin contact. Whenever Naegi reached for one of the places he was indicating, Tanaka always hurriedly withdrew his hand and kept it stiffly at his side. He wondered what was up with that. Kuma, for his part, was clearly enjoying the attention; he pushed his head into Naegi’s hand, eyes closed.

“His fur is really soft,” Naegi said, running his fingers through it. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you shampooed it.”

(He completely missed the red tint to Tanaka’s cheeks and how he suddenly hid his face).

. . . And now there was something on his lap. At first he thought it was a tuff of fabric from Tanaka’s scarf – which at some point prior, had fallen across his lap. But then the tuff moved, and bright black eyes blinked up at him. The hamster stared at Naegi, seeming almost confused, before it started to groom itself.

“This isn’t for me, too, is it?” Naegi asked. He reached cautiously for the hamster, moving even slower than when he had first reached for Kuma. Speaking of the devil, Kuma had leaned forward, and his jaws began to open –

But Tanaka was swift, and swatted the bear on the nose. At the same time, the hamster sprung into the air, grabbing onto the middle of Tanaka’s scarf. Within a second, it disappeared into the folds of the fabric. However, shortly after, Naegi saw a bunch of little heads stick out, all of them glaring at Kuma.

“One, two . . . there’s got to be at least a dozen!” Naegi said. “They all live in that scarf?”

Tanaka shrugged. A hamster popped out of his collar just then, and Tanaka lifted and held his arm in an odd way. It seemed instinctive for him, and the Breeder didn’t look the least bit surprised when the hamster decided to use his already-positioned arm as a slide. It tumbled down the arm and Tanaka flicked his wrist at the last moment so that the chubby rodent ended up in Naegi’s lap. It blinked and stared up at him, just as the other one had.

“Hi!” he said.

The hamster stared at him. It made no move to be friendly until it glanced back at Tanaka and the Breeder gave it a reassuring nod. Then the hamster waddled forward fearlessly, pausing to nibble on the tip of Naegi’s finger.

“They really trust you,” Naegi said, half to himself. “You must love them a lot.”

He didn’t need to see Tanaka’s gentle smile to know it was true. Just like Kuma, the hamsters had a healthy sheen to their fur that almost made them glow. Their eyes were bright and lively, actions curious and carefree. There was no possible way Tanaka had ever laid a cruel hand on them.

“I’m glad,” Naegi suddenly said. “I’m glad Despair didn’t make you . . .”

He stopped as it hit him what he had almost said. The hamster sensed his sudden tension, and scrambled back to the safety of its owner.

“. . . It’s nice to see someone who cares so much about his animals,” Naegi said instead.

If Tanaka knew his original sentence, he gave no sign except for a hard stare. But it softened again as Naegi idly stroked Kuma’s head. Tanaka suddenly got to his feet and briskly walked out of the infirmary.

“ . . . Did I say something that offended him?” Naegi asked Tsumiki.

But Tanaka returned quickly, and he had the air of a giddy child showing his teacher the drawing he had spent all day on. There was something clutched to his chest. When he got close enough, the Breeder thrust the items into Naegi’s chest. Naegi took them, a little confused, and examined them.

His eyes lit up.

“Mikan, these are bear documentaries! Can I watch them?”

Mikan smiled. “I can ask Soda-kun to bring one of the TVs. . . “

Just then, a Monokuma came strolling in. It held a platter filled with food high above its suit-cladded body and marched towards them –

Only to be knocked over with a swipe from Kuma’s paw. The bear ducked his head and eagerly began devouring the fallen meal.

“Nooooo!” Tsumiki cried. “That was supposed to be for Makoto!”

Naegi couldn’t help but cheer for his new friend.

* * *

The room was a mess. There were clothes scattered across the ground, a mess of paperwork on  the desk, and the sheets on the bed were crumbled and bunched. None of that, however, seemed to bother the room’s owner. She was too busy leaning over her bed, scowling, making irritated noises as she tried to cram a jacket into an already-stuffed suitcase. Really, the messy room was quite a contrast to the woman’s clothes: a neat suit jacket and dress shirt, although she wore shorts instead of the standard skirt one would find on a Future Foundation member.

“Come on, get in!” Asahina hissed as she tried one last time. For a moment, it looked like it would all fit, but then the jacket – among other items – sprung upwards as if the suitcase had been hiding springs.

Asahina ripped a jacket off her face and collapsed face-first onto the bed. She then proceeded to gracefully scream into the mattress.

“Stupid jacket,” she muttered, lifting her head. She stared ahead at the blank wall for a few seconds, collecting herself. Then, with a sharp, unexpected movement, she rolled over and sat up –

“Fukawa-san?!” Asahina was so surprised her ponytail seemed to fly straight up.

The Writer flinched, but it was too late to duck back behind the door and hide. She stepped inside the room, fingers locked together as she muttered, “Y-you’re an idiot, you know.”

“Huh? What was that for?”

“We all know wh-what you’re planning,” Fukawa hissed. “Master told me y-you’d do something like this.”

Asahina scowled, muscles tensing as she braced herself for a fight. “Yeah? Well, it’s not like I’m trying to hide anything. I’m not ashamed to _not_ be a coward like you guys!”

“No, you’re j-just a brainless nymph. Stupid girl can’t even tell the difference between fantasy and reality . . .”

“You’re one to talk!” Asahina snapped. “Besides, you saw it, too! You saw that message.”

Fukawa said, “Master told us to ignore it.”

“I don’t care what Togami thinks!” Asahina said. “He’s a stuck-up snob anyways.”

“Hmph. I can’t say I’m surprised to hear such a thing from you.”

Despite having been standing only a little behind Fukawa, the girls had been so caught up in arguing that they hadn’t noticed Togami until now. Fukawa blushed fiercely, nearly drooling as she muttered her White Knight’s name. Asahina looked a little startled, but then her face took on the steeliness of one resigning themselves to a fight they couldn’t win.

“Do you realize what you would be throwing yourself into?” Togami demanded, shutting the dormitory door behind him. “This isn’t some abandoned city we’re talking about. The world out there is dangerous.”

“I don’t care!” Asahina shouted. “I’m tired of sitting around and being useless.”

“And for that you would throw yourself on the sword.” Togami scoffed and crossed his arms, looking off to the side. “You commoners have such skewed priorities.”

“What? I’m not doing it for glory or whatever the hell you’re implying. I’m trying to help because unlike you, I actually _care_.”

“The Monokumas would r-rip you apart,” Fukawa said, pointing a shaking finger at Asahina’s chest. “You c-can’t just go waltzing in and expect th-they’d be distracted by th-those melons!”

For a second, Asahina looked like she wanted to cover herself. “I . . . At least I’m doing something instead of giving up!”

“We don’t know if that message was really from him,” Togami said.

“But what if it was! What if it was from him?” Asahina blinked rapidly, tears in her eyes. “What if Naegi-kun’s sister is in Towa City and he needs us to rescue her?”

Togami did not answer right away and when he did, he took a deep breath beforehand.

“She would be guarded . . .”

“I know she would be. I don’t care! She needs our help, and I . . . I . . .”

Asahina choked suddenly, smothering whatever phrase was meant to finish that sentence. Fat tears dripped down her face, and she rubbed at them fruitlessly with her sleeve.

“What if that was Naegi-kun asking us to help her?” she repeated, nearly begging. “We have to do something, don’t we? We owe him. And I couldn’t . . . He needed me and I couldn’t. . . I couldn’t help him or Oogami-san . . . Please, I need to help him. Just let me go and save _somebody_.”

Togami stared at her. The Heir didn’t look the least bit moved by her pleads. He looked like a judge for the afterlife, judging the worthiness of the souls who stood before him. And yet . . .

“Alright.”

Both girls blinked in surprised. “Eh?”

“Alright,” Togami said again. “I’ll help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hilariously, I google-imaged "Kuma" today for the fun of it and guess what it turned up? Pictures of a grizzly.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Asahina: Look, it's the traitor!  
> Togami: Don't you mean it's the Future Foundation's newest lapdog?  
> Asahina: Same thing. The point is that it's _her!_  
>  Asahina: *points at Kirigiri*


	38. The Misdirection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!

“So, when are we leaving?” Asahina asked eagerly, all traces of her former breakdown already gone.

“Will you keep it down?” Togami hissed through gritted teeth. “This is supposed to be a secret.”

“Ah, sorry.” Asahina’s cheeks were red, but there was a small smile on her face. As if discussing secrets while they were strolling through a busy work area was a perfectly normal mistake to make. As it was however, none of the many workers in their cubicles appeared to have noticed their conversation.

Togami pinched his nose and muttered, “I’m regretting this already.”

“M-maybe my White Knight should r-relieve his stress.” Fuwaka tapped her index fingers together, grinning lecherously. “I would gladly volunteer.”

. . . He’d been with them for less than ten minutes, and already Togami was considering locking himself in his room.

“I would never dream of touching a filthy mongrel like you,” he said. (Fukawa swooned in the background). “Now, do I as I told you and for the love of god, stop _talking_ –”

He came _that_ close to walking straight into Kirigiri. The Detective had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, stepping into his path while his attention was elsewhere. Togami lurched to a halt, taking a moment to fix his glasses.

The Heir crossed his arms, and smirked. “Ah, why if it isn’t the Future Foundation’s newest lapdog.”

“Togami-kun.” Kirigiri’s gaze was chilly, but it was nothing compared to the frost in her voice.

Almost immediately, a sudden tension filled the area, and many workers looked up from their station to stare. It wasn’t just him and Kirigiri that were the source of the tension either. Asahina looked like she was trying to set the Detective on fire with her eyes, and Fukawa was mumbling something foul under her breath.

“What do you want?” Asahina growled.

“Asahina-san.” Kirigiri nodded in her general direction. “I’m afraid this doesn’t concern you.”

“Why? Did you tattle on Togami again?”

Kirigiri didn’t react to the barb. “Togami-kun, I have been informed that you picked a fight with Sakakura-kun yesterday.”

Togami sneered. “That’s hardly fair. If the Future Foundation was upset by that, then they shouldn’t have sent a barbarian with the temperament of a toddler to deal with me.”

Several people started whispering to each other. Kirigiri’s eyes flickered to them, but that was her only response.

“We are not talking about this here,” Kirigiri said. “Come with me.”

“Ordering my White Knight around like that . . . How d-dare she? You’re just jealous that he –”

“That’s enough,” Togami said, and Fukawa immediately fell silent. “It’s fine. I’ve been looking forward to this, actually.”

“I bet she has been, too,” said Asahina. “You couldn’t just wait to get one of us into trouble again, couldn’t you?”

“Munakata-kun himself asked me to speak to him,” Kirigiri said.

“And I just bet you couldn’t resist volunteering! Can’t give up an opportunity to show off in front of the Branch Heads, huh?” Asahina snapped. “It’s not like we’re supposed to be your friends or anything.”

Kirigiri had already turned away, so there was no telling what her reaction had been – if there had been one. She merely repeated her previous order for Togami to follow her, and then walked away. Still smug, Togami followed. Kirigiri led him to her office, and opened the door.

“Shut it,” she said as Togami stepped inside.

Togami did so. He turned around afterwards, leaning against the door as their eyes met –

“May I ask what you and Sakakura-kun were arguing about?” she asked calmly.

Togami shrugged. “I merely pointed out that I was groomed to take over an international organization that secretly ruled the world from the shadows. And  that, objectively, would have made me better prepared to lead this foundation than the experience of being a mere student council president.”

Kirigiri nodded to herself. “Nothing serious enough to elicit a true punishment.”

With that, Kirigiri walked behind her desk and took a seat. Togami, too, stroke forward, taking the waiting seat in front of the desk.

Hands on her lap, sitting stiff as a board, Kirigiri spoke. “Let it be known that officially, I reprimanded you for your conduct, reminded you of the need for professionalism on all sides, and warned you that there may be consequences if you continue to antagonize your coworkers.”

“The usual, then. I’m hurt by your lack of creativity.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for future conversations.” Kirigiri said dryly. She took some papers out of a drawer and began looking through them.

Togami raised an eyebrow. “And now that we’re done with official business . . .?”

Kirigiri looked up at him. “Are you aware that the surveillance team submitted an official report that Naegi-kun tried to escape around the time we received that email about his sister?”

Togami frowned. “No, I was not. Then are you saying he did send –?”

“The Future Foundation is not considering that,” Kirigiri said, skin around her eyes tightening just a bit. “They see no reason to change their approach.”

Togami leaned back in his seat.  “The approach that is completely useless to us . . . So, we proceed with the plan.”

“Yes.” Kirigiri suddenly reached down, and pulled up a laptop. She placed it on the desk, and slid it towards Togami. “Everything you need is there.”

“Does anyone else know?” he asked.

Kirigiri stared at him. “Of course not. Why would you ask something like that?”

Togami shrugged, secretly delighting in annoying her, even just a little. “Just checking.”

As Togami accepted the laptop and placed it on his lap, Kirigiri suddenly spoke again. “Asahina-san’s very angry with me, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes,” Togami said. “She claims to understand why you exposed her plans, but she is still quite bitter that you stopped her from sneaking into that raiding party that tried to retrieve Naegi. Not to mention she’s rather upset that you keep taking their side over any of ours. You remember what happened in the fourth trial. Asahina doesn’t bear betrayal well.”

Kirigiri exhaled. “That’s . . . unfortunate. However, if it makes our estrangement more believable, then I must continue to play  the villain. I’m afraid I can’t see a better way to ensure I become head of the new division.”

“And we _need_ you in that position,” Togami agreed. “Is that still on track?”

“Yes. The higher-ups are still _very_ concerned about those rumours that you’re planning to use your remaining wealth and influence to usurp them. Your recent argument certainly hasn’t eased those worries. They will welcome me as a division head to act as a buffer between them and you. Not to mention, they are also eager to find somebody that can control the four of you, and despite everything, I seem to be the best at that.”

Togami smiled, and it was the smile of a wolf that had just spotted a herd of deer. “How very convenient.”

Kirigiri didn’t react. She instead changed the subject. “Togami-kun, I presume those two are accompanying you to Towa City?”

Togami looked off to the side, legs crossed one over the other. “Asahina would go on her own if I didn’t allow her to. Fukawa obeys all orders except the ones where I tell her to _stop following me_.”

Kirigiri smiled the tiniest bit. “Ah, it must be so horrible to be so popular.”

Togami glared at her.

“Is that all?” the Heir demanded.

“No. Stay. Hagakure-kun should be returning soon, and we’ll need to discuss that.”

The two of them sat in silence. Kirigiri had a cup of tea with her and, after a few sips, offered to get some for Togami. Togami declined (of course he did. Lavender tea? How utterly commonplace) and the two were left with a slightly more awkward silence. It didn’t help that while Kirigiri had paperwork to fill out, Togami did not have anything to do. Sure, he could have perused the laptop, but he was worried about someone coming in and seeing what was on it.

Then, it happened.

“Kirigiri-chiiiiii!”

“You may want to move out of the way,” was all Kirigiri said as Hagakure’s shout rang through the walls.

Togami gave it a moment of thought, then decided to evacuate to the side.

A wise decision.

The door slammed open. Hagakure rushed in like a typhoon, accidentally bumping the chair Togami had been sitting in and sending it skittering across the floor. The Clairvoyant was breathing heavily, sweating, his already frighteningly-messy hair somehow even messier. But despite his apparent distress, the Clairvoyant was grinning widely, waving his arms wildly to make sure he had the Detective’s attention.

“Oi, Kirigiri-chi! It worked. Your magic charm worked!”

“Did it, now?” Kirigiri said, apparently unaffected by how the volume of the room had increased tenfold.

“Yeah! I got separated from the others and accidentally walked right in front of some soldiers. I thought I was a goner, but not a single one shot at me.” Hagakure laughed loudly, hands on his hips. “I even kicked one and nothing!”

“I see. Please keep this between us.”

“Huh? Oh, I get it. Everyone would be trying to steal that charm if they knew.”

“Exactly.” Kirigiri dipped her chin, right before saying, “Now hand it over.”

“About that . . .” Hagakure grinned at her sheepishly, hand getting lost in his hair as he rubbed at his scalp. “I lost it.”

“You did?”

“Uh, yeah . . .”

“Empty your pockets.”

Hagakure froze. “B-but . . .”

“Now.”

Looking like a boy who had been caught swiping candy, Hagakure reached into the pockets of his much too baggy pants. Some of the stuff he pulled out was nothing more than junk. Some of it was . . . questionable. At one point, Hagakure made a move as if to hide something behind his back. He was no match for Kirigiri though, who merely commanded him once to hand it over once. The Clairvoyant sighed and dropped a small trinket into her waiting hand.

“Thank you,” she said. “You can leave now.”

Despite the dismissal, Hagakure remained. “Are you sure? I mean you don’t really need a charm like that if you’re just –”

“You can leave now.”

Sulking, slumped at the shoulders, Hagakure did.

“. . . A magic charm?” Togami asked from his corner, eyebrow raised.

“He believed it, didn’t he?” Kirigiri countered. “And given Hagakure-kun’s reputation around here, nobody will bother digging deeper. It was rather clever, wasn’t it?”

As she spoke, Kirigiri had leaned closer over her desk. She wore expression that anyone who knew her would say to be the closest she could come to explicit smugness. Togami grit his teeth, unable to deny her statement, but also reluctant to give her a compliment with no strings attached.

“That it didn’t backfire terribly is impressive,” he said instead.

“Indeed.” Once again, the barest hint of smugness crept into her voice. It was infuriating.

He changed the subject. “So, if none of them attacked him, then we can conclude your hypothesis is correct . . .”

“Naegi-kun has somehow managed to infiltrate the Monokuma system.”

The silence hung. Togami leaned back in his seat, shaking his head.

“Unbelievable,” the Heir said. “How could an ordinary person like that –?”

“You underestimated him,” Kirigiri said. “As always. Regardless, you should be able to move freely without fear of the Monokuma army.”

Togami shook his head again. “Naegi really is impossible to keep down.”

Kirigir said, “The division heads will be having a meeting at three o’clock tomorrow. That will be the best time to sneak away.”

“Can you get us some of those megaphones?”

“I can. Return here at noon tomorrow.”

With that, the conversation ended. Neither Togami nor Kirigiri felt the need for proper goodbyes. Once Togami simply nodded once and then made his way towards the exit. Kirigiri returned to her paperwork. Both of their expressions were tight-lipped, as if they indeed had been having a very serious discussion about Togami’s misdemeanours.

But then . . .

“Togami-kun? If you do indeed find Naegi Komaru, then Asahina-san would be very happy. Perhaps, she her mood would be boosted enough that she would be willing to extend an olive branch  . . .”

Hand still on the door handle, Togami looked over his shoulder at her. “When we rescue Naegi’s sister, I’ll find a way to tell Asahina the truth about what you’re doing. That said, I find the ‘if’ in your statement offensive. Surely, you don’t doubt me.”

Kirigiri sighed. “We still have no proof that Naegi-kun sent that message.”

Togami didn’t open the door. He watched Kirigiri instead, expression guarded and unreadable.

“I must say, Kirigiri,” the Heir suddenly said, “I never thought I’d see the day where I had more faith in him than you.”

Kirigiri looked up sharply.

Togami continued, “If Naegi did indeed hack an army of Monokumas, then I find it difficult to believe that sending a simple email is beyond him.”

Kirigiri held his gaze a little while longer.

“I’ll see you at noon tomorrow,” she finally said.

* * *

The fawn ran. Its flanks were heaving, ears flat against its skull as it tore through the bush. Behind it, the beast advanced. Its long fangs glinted in the dim light; black eyes reflected the tiny, frail body of its prey. Then, all so quickly, it happened. The fawn slipped. The beast’s paws pounded against the dirt and – it was over. Teeth tore into the young body, crushing bone and muscle alike.

Naegi shoved popcorn into his mouth.

As the bear onscreen began to feed, he turned to Kuma and asked, “Did you ever do anything like that?”

Kuma stared at his popcorn bowl.

Naegi sighed. “I already gave you too many marshmallows. Plus, you ate two of my lunches.”

Kuma stared at his popcorn bowl.

Naegi looked to Tanaka. The breeder was on a chair next to his bed, having refused to sit upon the object itself. He gave the bear a firm look and shook his head. Kuma huffed, but adverted his gaze.

“I don’t get how you can say no to him,” Naegi said. He stared at Kuma, saw the flint-like, cold black of his eyes, the teeth – thick and long as his fingers – peeking out; saw a sturdy head placed upon a powerful neck, attached to an even more powerful body lined with muscle; saw a size and mass that could easily kill him by accident alone . . .

“. . . He’s just so cute,” Naegi finished.

Tanaka nodded solemnly. Then jumped as a couple of his hamsters took offense and head-butted him in the stomach. Naegi smiled at that, and then glanced back at Tsumiki.

“Uh, Mikan? Why are you hiding your face like that?”

“It’s . . . it’s just . . . that poor fawn!”

Ah. Naegi winced in sympathy. “I know it’s bad, but it’s just nature.”

“I know, it’s just so horrible!”

As Tsumiki whined and continued to lament the loss of the fawn, Naegi watched her with only one thought in mind:

_Please don’t say she’s freaking out because it reminded her of me._

Naegi glanced back at the TV. “Look, now they’re fishing!”

They watched videos and movies about bears until the evening. At least, that’s what Naegi thought. It was kind of hard to tell time in the infirmary. But he couldn’t think of another reason why Tsumiki would kick Tanaka out and then take him to brush his teeth.

“Try not to roll around too much,” she said afterwards when he was tucked in. “The handcuffs shouldn’t bother you if you don’t. Umm, j-just try not to think about them, okay?”

“Can’t you take them off?” Naegi asked, lifting the offending wrist. “I mean I’ll be asleep anyways.”

Tsumiki glanced nervously from side to side. “B-but you might run off and . . .”

“I won’t.”

“You weren’t supposed to before,” she said quietly, almost guiltily.

“Mikan. . .” He sat up to speak to her better. “I’m not going to run away.”

“But you –”

“I promise.”

Mikan stared at him. She swallowed.

“Al-alright.”

The cuff came off with a small click. Naegi rubbed his wrist, even though it didn’t hurt.

“Thanks,” he said.

Mikan stood there, still holding the loose cuff. “You’re not lying to me, right? You’re not going to run away, are you?”

“No, I won’t run tonight,” he promised.

He glanced at the infirmary doors. He hadn’t seen any sign that someone was behind them, but the first night after his attempted escape? He’d be shocked if there _wasn’t_ somebody secretly guarding those doors.

Naegi asked, “Is Komaeda-kun not coming to say goodnight?”

“Umm, I guess not,” Tsumiki said. “I’m not sure. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Naegi said. He felt . . . oddly putout. At least that probably meant he didn’t have to recite the eulogy today. “Mikan, you’re not going to stay up all night again and watch me, are you?”

She stared at him for a long while.

“No,” she said. “You promised and . . . a-and I’m going to trust you! I’ll be in that bed over there.”

Naegi watched her as she indeed walked over to one of the neighbouring beds and got herself comfortable. She flashed him a smile when she saw him looking, and then snuggled into the pillow and closed her eyes. Naegi did the same shortly after. It wasn’t like he could do much else.

Time passed, and the two dozed off.

Then, in the dark, dark corner of the room, something stirred. Kamukura stepped forward, moving soundlessly until he was right by Naegi’s bedside. He stared down at the younger teen’s unbound wrist, face as emotionless as ever.

“. . . I’ll assume you have a reason,” he droned.

A phone rang.

In a flash, before either of the two sleepers could wake, Kamukura fished Kuzuryu’s phone out of his pocket and brought it up to his ear. He didn’t check the caller ID. He knew exactly whom it would be. As he walked back towards the dark corner, he waited for her to speak.

“Kuzuryu-kun, do you know Naegi contacted us?” Yukizome asked.

Kamukura moved the phone away so that she wouldn’t hear him clear his throat.

And then he spoke with _Kuzuryu’s_ voice.

“He sent you guys a message through the website, right? Yeah, we know about that.”

“Okay, just checking. . . He told them where you’re holding his sister,” Yukizome said quietly.

“We know. Don’t worry about it. It’s all part of the plan.”

“Okay, if you say so! Anything you need from me?”

“Make sure Munkata doesn’t take it seriously,” he said.

They exchanged basic pleasantries and hung up. Kamukura grabbed a bottle of water afterwards and took a deep drink; his throat always went dry while using his Ultimate Voice Acting talent. He then leisurely made his way toward the exit. He had to swap this phone with the decoy he’d planted on Kuzuryu before anyone noticed.

He glanced down at the phone and _something_ tugged at his lips for an instant.

“Ah, Komaeda. After all his efforts to get this far, it really would be unfair if I allowed you such an easy way to thwart him,” Kamukura said idly.

But of course, that wasn’t the real reason why he’d covered for Naegi. If his analysis was correct and the situation advanced as he predicted . . . then the stage for the showdown had just been set. He’d finally get a real chance to put his theory to the test.

For better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Saionji notices something that apparently nobody else in UD has.


	39. The Dancer

“Hey. Hey! Wake up!”

Naegi grumbled, half-asleep.

“I said wake up!”

Naegi opened his eyes, jumping when he saw the handcuff around his wrist had been removed. “What – ?”

“Finally! Do you know how long I was waiting here? I didn’t come all the way here just to watch some stupid, lazy boy lie in bed all day!”

“Ah, sorry!” Naegi scrambled into a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes. “I didn’t know you were coming to see me, Saionji-san.”

“Of course not.” The Dancer crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out. A key to his handcuffs dangled from her hand. (Did everyone have a key?) “Why would you expect someone like _me_ to visit you?”

“Uh . . .” Had that been a rhetorical question?

“Well, guess what. I decided to be nice and give you a break from spending all day with that . . . that wonderfully attentive Nurse!”

Those were despair swirls. Those were definitely despair swirls.

Sometimes, despair seemed absolutely ridiculous.

“. . . Thanks,” he said carefully.

“Yeah, whatever. Now listen up! I have something important to show you.”

Naegi snapped to attention. He carefully extracted himself from the sheets, in case he needed to get up.

“Look,” Saionji said, “I used to be a tiny little shrimp like you, but that doesn’t mean I let people walk all over me. So, I’m going to show you how to cut those bullies down to size!”

Ho boy. Naegi dragged a hand through his hair. “Uh, thanks, but I don’t really like saying mean things about people.”

“Who said I was going to teach you how to call people rude names?” the Dancer said.

Naegi leaned back, trying to make sure he was out of her reach. “Sorry! I just thought –”

“. . . Because violence is much more fun!” Saionji finished. She suddenly turned towards the door. “Hey, get in here, you greasy monkey!”

“Ack, I’m coming!”

Soda burst through the doors. The sound of them hitting the wall was loud enough to shock Mikan out of her slumber. The Nurse squeaked in alarm, pulling the blanket over her head as if to hide. She peeked out a moment later, blinking owlishly at the sight of her classmates.

“Great. Now watch closely!” Saionji jabbed her finger in Naegi’s direction. “Because I’m going to show you how to turn this guy into a quivering wreck!”

“Ah, Saionji-san, wait!” Tsumiki almost toppled out of bed in her haste to ran over.

Saionji whipped around and her voice adopted a completely different tone. “Why hello, Tsumiki-san. You’re looking lovely today.”

. . . Yep. There were the despair swirls.

“I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but I don’t think Makoto should be learning this.” Tsumiki bowed her head, cheeks a faint red. “Makoto’s so sweet and gentle, and I really love that about him . . .”

“You’d rather let him get pushed around all the time?”

Tsumiki reeled back, throwing her arms over her head. “No, that’s not what I meant! I’m sorry. Please forgive meeeee!”

“Uh, Tsumiki-san’s right though,” Soda said. “Naegi-kun doesn’t really have that kind of attitude –”

“I appreciate your input,” Saionji said, once again using that different tone. Then, her smile dropped. “Did I say I wanted to hear you talk? Shut it!”

Naegi wasn’t sure if he should say something –

But then Saionji was in his face. “Look, I get it! You’re all cute and tiny and everybody’s jealous and trying to trick you and stuff. You can’t just sit there and take it. You gotta be mean back or they’re just going to keep picking on you.”

“Couldn’t I just talk to them?” Naegi asked. “Being mean is . . .”

“Why waste all your time with words when you can do _this_?”

It was so sudden that poor Soda had no time to react to it. Saionji’s heel slammed down on his toes, and the Mechanic hollered and hopped about on one foot.

Naegi cried, “That –!”

“Works all the time!” Saoinji said proudly. “And it doesn’t matter if you’re small. Now, get up. It’s your turn.”

Naegi did stand, but he spoke to Soda instead. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Soda said. “I just –”

“Less talking, more stomping!” Saoinji ordered.

Naegi said, “B-but –”

“ _Stomp on his foot!_ ”

His chest flared up in panic and he acted. Suddenly, his foot was on top of Soda’s, and both he and the Nurse were giving Naegi an odd look . . .

Saoinji groaned and buried her face in her hands. “You’re supposed to put effort into it. Not flop it like a wet noodle!”

“Sorry,” Naegi mumbled.

“I think we should stop!” Tsumiki said. Before Naegi knew it, she was hugging him from the side. “Makoto’s a very nice person, and he doesn’t like doing bad things to others. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

“Yeah.” He put a hand on her arm to loosen the stranglehold around his neck. “That’s pretty accurate.”

“What? Do you _want_ Komaeda to keep bullying you?” Saionji demanded, hands on her hip. “Is this some kind of weird perverted thing?”

Naegi froze.

“. . . Komaeda-kun?” Tsumiki repeated, clearly confused.

Sweat trickled down his back.

“Eh? Doesn’t that guy basically worship him?” Soda asked.

“Are you two really that dense? Haven’t you ever noticed how Komaeda looks at him sometimes?” Saoinji poked Mikan’s chest this time.

Tsumiki turned her head to look at him. “Makoto . . . Komaeda’s bullying you?”

_~~Yes. YES!~~ _ ~~~~

“No,” he said. He hoped the smile on his face was a better one than the ones he had been able to fake for his sister. “I think Saionji-san’s mistaken.”

“Eww! So it is some weird perverted thing. Gross! I didn’t take time out of my precious day for this!”

“You sure?” Soda asked him. “The guy can be a real creep sometimes.”

“I’m fine,” Naegi said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

_Please, please don’t do this. He’ll get so mad at me. He’ll . . . I don’t know what he’ll do, but . . ._

Soda shrugged. “Alright. If you say so.”             

He barely held back a relived sigh.

“Well, what are we going to do now?” Saionji demanded. “No way I’m getting involved in whatever weird stuff you two are doing.”

Naegi shrugged. “You can dance, I guess.”

She scoffed. “I just said I didn’t want to get involved with your weird fetishes!”

“That’s not . . .  I didn’t . . .!” It was almost amazing how quickly and how much his face heated up. “It’s your talent, so I thought . . .”

He looked at Tsumiki, more of a plead for what to say than out of hurt, but the Nurse took it as the latter. She whipped around to face Saionji, heels clicking together, and demanded, “Apologize right now! You’re making him self-conscious.”

Saionji cracked a wide smile, adopting her despair tone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make fun of your weird fantasies.”

“That’s not . . .!” He buried his face in his hands.

So busy was he with that, he didn’t notice the calculating stare she gave him. Her gaze swept up and down his form, and something suspiciously close to a smirk began to appear. She leaned back to confirm just who was here with her, then mumbled something to Tsumiki and darted off.

She returned holding yellow fabric.

“Okay!” She skidded to a stop right in front of a baffled Naegi. “You want to do something with dancing. Here. Put it on!”

She shoved the bundle into his arms. Naegi unfolded it and held it up by one end. It was a yellow kimono.

He asked, “Why . . .?”

“Is there something wrong with a kimono?” Saionji asked, clearly exaggerating the surprise in her voice. “Do you not like mine? Are you trying to call me ugly?”

“No, I –!”

“Well, if there’s nothing wrong with kimonos, you should have no problem putting it on!”

This time, he did look at Mikan for help.

“I think it would look nice on you,” the Nurse said.

Darn it.

Before long, he found himself behind a curtain in the back of the infirmary wearing the kimono. He pinched one of the sleeves and looked it over. It . . . he didn’t think it looked half-bad. Maybe there were too many flowers for his liking, but other than that it was rather plain. It felt nice, too. Apart from being way too long for him, the only problem was . . .

“Uh, Saionji-san?” He stepped out from behind the curtain (to Tsumiki’s delight). “Can you tie this for me?”

Silence.

Soda and Mikan burst into laughter.

Naegi blinked. “What?”

“Very clever,” Saionji said, despair swirls in her eyes. “That was well played.”

“I have no idea what just happened,” he said to Kuma, who had wandered over to sniff at the new outfit his owner was wearing. Naegi stepped towards the other two –

And promptly tripped over his way-too long kimono.

Tsumiki rushed over to help him over, but Soda just laughed even harder. The Mechanic was nearly on his knees by the time Tsumiki hooked his arm under his and lifted him up. Naegi clung to her, conveniently letting her stand between him and Soda. Not that he was trying to hide or anything.

“I don’t think he’s going to be doing any dancing,” Soda said to Saionji, eyes teary from laughter. “Maybe he could stand in the background and look pretty?”

“I didn’t want him to dance, I just wanted him to wear it.” Once again, Saionji’s eyes swept over him from top to bottom. “Your hair kind of ruins it. Way too messy.”

Just what was she getting at –?

No. She wouldn’t.

They weren’t going to –

“And his _nails_!” the Dancer went on. “It’s like you cut them in the dark or something.”

She _wouldn’t_ –

“Hey, Tsumiki-san.” Saoinji grinned. “I think he needs some help with his appearance.”

“That’s okay!” he said quickly, directing his words at Tsumiki. “Really, I don’t!”

“Oh, but you would look so cute!” Tsumiki said. “We could put flowers around his neck, and maybe a ribbon in his hair . . .”

“ _This is really unnecessary_!”

“Hey, Soda! Do something useful and get Mioda, will you?”

“Soda-kun, Kuma! _Help!_ ”

“ . . . Man, I need to get the rest of the guys to see this,” Soda said as he walked away.

* * *

“Doesn’t it ever lie flat?”

“Maybe we need more gel?”

“Makoto-chan’s ahoge just wants to be free!”

“Can I go now?” Naegi asked desperately.

The three girls paused in their duties. As one, they declared, “No.”

Naegi slumped in his seat.

Mioda had hold of his hand, blowing on his freshly-painted nails, which she had painted black-and-white after her horns. Tsumiki and Saioniji were tackling his hair – specifically, they were trying to get his ahoge down. They were quickly learning, however, that nothing could remove Naegi’s signature look. He could also feel the makeup brushed across his face, but only when he paid attention to it.

Tsumiki sighed. “I guess this is the best we can do.”

“I’ll get the mirror!” Mioda dashed off.

The silence was awkward. Saionji tapped her foot impatiently, staring off to the side. Tsumiki sighed, and fondly stroked his hair.

“That wasn’t that bad, was it?” she asked.

“. . . No,” he said grudgingly.

Her smile widened. “Wasn’t it fun?”

“Not really.”

She was about to say something to that, but then Mioda came back with a handheld mirror. Naegi’s first instinct was to close his eyes, which he did; but eventually boredom – and Tsumiki’s pleads – won out and cringing, he looked at his reflection –

Huh.

He . . .

He didn’t look half-bad.

He had expected to see a stranger in the mirror. Someone caked in makeup with impossibly white skin, like a geisha. Or something ridiculous like a clown. But no, he still looked like himself. His nails were painted, his hair was flatter than usual and there was a daisy in it, but nobody could mistake him for anyone but himself. The girls had been surprisingly gentle with the makeup and most of it seemed intended solely to bring some colour to his skin and make him look like . . . like . . .

. . . like someone who wasn’t slowly wasting away.

“I guess I overreacted,” he admitted.

“See? Makoto-chan needs to relax and start trusting his best girls!” Mioda crowed.

Tsumiki blinked. “You don’t trust me?”

“No, I do!” Naegi shouted to no avail. The next minute or so was taken up by his frantic attempts to calm Tsumiki as she sobbed. Kuma poked his head through the curtain, attracted by the ruckus.

“You really trust me?” Tsumiki asked.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” he said. “Honestly though, I’m pretty thirsty right now. I’m just going to grab something to drink –”

He had stepped around Kuma and through the curtain, still facing the girls as he spoke. But then he turned, and it became apparent that they were not alone.

A few beats passed.

The male members of Ultimate Despair (and Owari) burst out laughing.

“You painted his nails?” Kuzuryu slapped his knee, nearly on the ground from how hard he was laughing. Pekoyama side eyed him but otherwise was as expressionless as ever. “You should have curled his hair while you were at it.”

“How do you even move in that?” Hanamura asked.

“Got to say, you don’t look half-bad!” Nidai said, giving Naegi a big thumbs-up. But despite the friendly air behind it, Naegi still cringed and stepped back. He bumped into Kuma, and the bear sniffed his face. Looking confused, Kuma licked his cheek, snorting afterwards as his tongue picked up the taste of makeup.

He wished he had his hoodie right now, so that he could either pull the collar up to his chin, or hide himself with the hood. He was embarrassed enough to want to turn away and hide in Kuma’s fur, but at the same time, he was too embarrassed to shield himself and admit what he was feeling. Caught in that indecision, he stood there, staring at his feet as the curtain rustled and the three girls came out.

“Hey! What are you piggies laughing at?” Saionji snapped.

To his surprise, most of the laughter stopped. And while Kuzuryu and Nidai still had wide grins, most of the others were watching Saionji warily.

“Well, it’s . . . uh . . . I dunno?” Soda said. “It’s just funny.”

“You know what’s funny? Thinking I actually care about what you think!” Saionji merely jerked her leg, and Soda immediately jumped back as if she were about to drive a high heel into his foot. “I don’t care about what some jealous wrench-boy has to say.”

“I’m not jealous!” Soda squawked.

“I bet you are.” Saionji leaned in toward him. “You know that you could never look that nice because your skin’s already covered in all that disgusting grease. I bet it’s not even from your machines either.”

“Yeah, I can buy that,” Owari said, nose twitching. “When the last time you showered?”

Soda whimpered and pulled his beanie over his eyes.

Saionji turned to Nidai next. The Coach raised his hands in a placating fashion, and said, “Hey, I wasn’t laughing because I was teasing him. I was laughing because it looked like he was having a good time.”

“You shouldn’t have done that!” Tsumiki snapped. Her arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind. “You hurt his feelings.”

He was going to say that she didn’t need to defend him, but his face was still bright red from before, and Tsumiki seemed so confident and sure of herself. He didn’t want to make her feel bad about herself again.

“Sorry about that,” Nidai said. “Didn’t mean to give you that impression.”

With even Nidai having balked, now Kuzuryu was looking putout. He scowled when Saionji gave him a smug look.

“We should all put on kimonos!” Mioda shouted. “Then we can give you all makeovers, and then we can go on the roof and watch fireworks!”

“Ooo, I’m down!” Owari said.

“Fireworks sound cool, but could we skip the other stuff? I’d have to take a couple of baths first,” Soda said.

“Makoto, what about you? What do you think?” Tsumiki asked.

“Fireworks,” he said quietly. Then, the other words hit him.

. . . _Outside?_

It wouldn’t be like last time. Even if they weren’t on the roof, with Ultimate Despair surrounding him, there would be no escape. But still . . . to be outside. How could he refuse?

He nodded.

“Makoto wants to do it!” Tsumiki announced cheerfully, as if that decided everything.

“Sure, whatever. Fireworks are fine, but you guys are not painting my nails!” Kuzuryu said.

He and Mioda continued to argue, with everyone else just watching them. Well, Pekoyama was trying to stare her master’s opponent down, but the cheery musician didn’t seem to notice. The whole situation was starting to get repetitive.

Finally, Makoto spoke up.

“Uh, Kuzuryu-kun! You’re the head of the Yakuza, right? So that means you need to be tough, right?”

“Damn straight I am!” Kuzuryu said.

“Then wouldn’t it be really despairful if everyone saw you do something not very tough, like get a makeover?”

Kuzuryu stared at him.

Then, he started laughing.

“Shit! You’re right.” Eyes filled with swirls, the Ultimate Yakuza eagerly stepped towards Mioda. “I changed my mind. Paint my fucking nails! Paint ‘em pink, and . . . and put fucking kittens on them! Put glitter in my hair. Fuck! Do everything!”

With a loud cheer, Mioda grabbed Kuzuryu’s hand and pulled him back behind the curtain. Pekoyama and Saionji followed them, the Dancer patting Naegi on the shoulder and hissing, “Nice one” as she ran by.

“I guess  that’s that,” Nidai said. “I’ll go set up for the fireworks.”

“Uh, I’ll come help you!” Soda said. Beside him, Tanaka nodded feverishly in agreement.

As suddenly as they had arrived, the rest of Ultimate Despair vanished before they could get caught up in the girls’ web. It was just him and Tsumiki now (and Kamukura and Kuma, but neither of them really counted).  The two of them were quiet. During the lapse, Kamukura stepped forward. He stopped right at the edge of Naegi’s vision, and he turned to glance at the longhaired teen as he looked Naegi over.

“. . . You would look better in a teal or black kimono,” Kamukura said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE GUYS? SEE HOW FLUFFY AND UNDESPAIRFUL THIS BREAK ARC IS? NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT HERE!
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi outgrows some of his old clothes.


	40. The Fireworks

“Here you go, Makoto. Make sure to zip it up tight!”

Tsumiki tried one last time to smooth the wrinkles in his hoodie, and then handed it to him. Naegi took it, furrowing his brow in confusion as he ran his fingers along the ratty strip of fabric on the back. When had that . . . Ah, he remembered. It had actually been a while ago when they had first found him, and Nidai had dragged him across the floor. He hadn’t been without his hoodie long enough before to really notice before. In fact, now that he looked at it closely, the whole thing was starting to look a little shabby. Maybe he should ask if Ultimate Despair had the Ultimate Seamstress on call.

He was already wearing sweats that Tsumiki had brought him, and a thicker shirt than the one he had been wearing when he had woken up tied to the bed. A hoodie might have been overkill to some people, but . . . well . . . he got cold easily. He knew that. The hoodie was the last piece of clothing in his set.

So why wasn’t he putting it on?

“Makoto?” Tsumiki cocked her head as Naegi continued to stare blankly at his favourite hoodie.

Naegi shook his head. “Sorry. I was distracted.”

He unzipped the front, preparing to wear it. Still, he hesitated without understanding why. It was just cloth. It was _his_. It wasn’t a trap.

He opened up the hoodie and began to stick his arm through the hole –

 _That smell_.

. . . His hoodie soared ungracefully through the air, landing in a crumpled heap like a wounded animal. Naegi skittered backwards, slamming into his bed by accident and falling onto it. But before his back even hit the mattress, he was twisting into a sitting position, body hair standing on end and forehead clammy.

“Makoto!” Mikan ran forward and stopped just short of the bed. She glanced from him to the hoodie nervously, looking as though she was half-tempted to dive on top of him and shield him from the evil clothing.

“I-it . . .” Naegi choked over his own words. “That’s . . . it smells!”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It smells!” he cried, pointing an accusing finger at his favourite hoodie. “It smells like . . . it smells . . . I don’t want to wear it!”

Even from here he could smell it. _Dead_. It smelled like _death_.

Tsumiki carefully walked over to the hoodie and picked it up. She brought the sleeve up to her nose, and took a deep breath.

“Umm, it is a little strange-smelling,” Tsumiki said. “I’m sorry!”

“I’m not wearing it!” By this time, Naegi was perched on the edge of his mattress. Tsumiki was holding that hoodie, and it felt like she was holding a gun to his head. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Makoto, you –”

“ _Stay away!_ ”

He could smell it. Death. It was everywhere. How could he have missed it before? The stench was pouring off his hoodie in droves, crashing into the floor like a waterfall. And it seemed for a moment in those wrinkles and worn patches, he could see _that_ face again. Staring at him with no eyes. Just staring.

“Shh! It’s okay! See? Mommy’s not letting it near you.” Moving slowly, like Naegi was a half-mad dog ready to strike, Mikan backed away and laid his hoodie over a nearby chair.

It was just a sweater. Just a dumb sweater, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“It’s okay.” She knelt down in front of him, laying hand on his cheek.

He shuddered, closing his eyes. “I don’t want to wear it.”

“Okay, you don’t have to wear it. Why don’t you just take one of the blankets instead?” As she suggested that, she grabbed a corner of the blanket and brought it to his shaking hand.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“I’ll wash it again,” Tsumiki said. “I’ll wash it until it stops –”

“No,” Naegi said hoarsely. “Burn it . . . just burn it.”

He got to ride Kuma again, and that took his mind off the hoodie. He thought instead of what waited him on the roof. There would be wind, no doubt. Fresh air. A sky. Stars, or maybe clouds. He wasn’t sure. Oh, maybe if he was lucky he’d get to see a bat or something!

The door to the roof was password protected, although Tsumiki didn’t seem to mind him watching her punch the code in. He watched, but he could only catch the last couple of digits or so before the keypad beeped and the lock clicked. The staircase was too narrow for Kuma, so they had to leave the bear inside.

“I didn’t know you guys had fireworks,” Naegi said.

“Oh, we collect all kinds of explosives,” Tsumiki said. “Soda-kun and Mioda-san get really excited over them.”

He almost asked, but then decided he was probably best off not knowing. Instead, he watched the approaching door with an almost alarming intensity. Ten steps away. Nine. Eight . . .

Ready or not, here they went.

He squeezed ahead of Tsumiki and burst out onto the roof, running forward until he lost momentum. This, as it turned out, wasn’t the whole roof. It was a lower section of the roof, more like a balcony than anything. Behind him was sheer a wall of brick, nearly a story in height, that led up to a higher roof level. The ground below him was bare. Solid concrete.

But above him, it was a painting come to life. A white streak made of stars and their light carved their way through the darkness. There no was moon today, or maybe the building behind him hid it. The sky was a purplish-black, lighter near the horizon – a spectacular splash of color. Naegi didn’t think about it for long. He was transfixed instead by the light touch of an outside breeze on his exposed skin. It seemed to reach down under his skin and tickle his nerves, leaving his flesh all cool and tingly. He couldn’t even tell if he was making up that feeling, if the simple kiss of the outside really affected him that much, or if it was just cold.

He walked over to the edge, driven by a curiosity he couldn’t quite place. The closer he got, the more something seemed . . . _off_. It was something in the air – something in his vision. Something wasn’t quite right with what he was seeing.

A few metres away, he finally understood.

“There’s a glass wall here,” he said aloud.

Tsumiki had been following behind him and elected to speak now. “It’s bulletproof glass.”

“ . . . Right.” Naegi frowned ever so slightly. Yes, that was right. This wasn’t just a group of friends watching the stars together.

He pressed his hand against the glass. It was smooth under his palm like . . . glass. He glanced up. It was pretty high. With something tall to stand on though, he might be able to climb over it. Maybe. But then there was the drop, and that was . . .

Well, he hadn’t held out much hope for this avenue of escape anyways.

Still, it was nice to just stand there and look for a while. Staring at the nearby buildings was always nicer in the evening because of the strange, twisted silhouettes they made, and because the darkness hid the worst of the devastation. Some of the silhouettes could barely be identified as buildings; it made him feel sometimes like he was charting out an alien world.

He heard the door open and close behind him. By the time he turned around, two more of Ultimate Despair had arrived. The Imposter was staring up at the sky, wearing his best Impatient Togami face. Tanaka was on one knee nearby, handing out tiny earmuffs to the assortment of hamsters waiting before him. It was an idyllic, happy scene.

And then Mioda and Saionji dragged in Kuzuryu.

Naegi stared.

“Oh, this isn’t going to be good,” Tsumiki said.

Mioda and Saionji started giggling, attracting the attention of the two other boys. Tanaka was too occupied with his hamsters to look, but the Imposter wasn’t, and he visibly jumped.

The Imposter said, “What on earth –?”

“We gave Baby Gangsta a makeover!”

The Yakuza tucked his chin into his collar and tilted his fedora over his face, but not before Naegi _saw_. Back when the girls had given him a makeover, Naegi had feared they would make him look ridiculous. They hadn’t, but that wasn’t the case with Kuzuryu. Naegi hadn’t been able to look long, but any time at all was long enough to know Kuzuryu had been modelled after a clown; he had the pasty white skin, the red-tinted cheeks and . . . and apparently, he’d let Mioda go at the hair dye. His formerly blond hair was now divided into three sections: white in the center, and black on the two outer areas. It looked . . . he looked . . .

“You look ridiculous,” the Imposter said. By now, Tanaka was staring, too.

Pekoyama scowled at the Imposter, but the ferocity of her expression was dulled by how hard the other two girls were laughing, and how her master was desperately trying to hide his face. At least it seemed the Imposter wasn’t going to say anything else –

“I brought hot cocoa!”

Carrying a tray of mugs, with Nidai hauling a drink cooler behind him, Hanamura burst through the door. He smiled at them all. Then he saw Kuzuryu.

“Oh.” That was all the Chef could say. Nidai nearly walked into him, until he was also shocked into place by the sight of the Ultimate Yakuza.

“I knew I should have washed it off!” Kuzuryu said into his collar.

“Oh, there’s no need to hide your gorgeous face,” Hanamura said.  (Naegi had no idea if he was trying to make Kuzuryu feel better, or just being himself). “Why that makeup, it gives you a rather exotic appearance, if I may say so. There are certainly people who would be interested in that –”

And Hanamura stopped talking when Pekoyama hit him in the stomach. The Swordswoman quickly caught the tray Hanamura had dropped and upon it, all of the mugs that had flown into the air. Mioda and Nidai clapped. Kuzuryu, too, was beginning to smirk. . .

And that’s when everyone else arrived.

Unlike the others, they had no qualms about laughing at Kuzuryu.

“This is stupid!” Kuzuryu hissed. “It’s not even despairful. It’s just pathetic and . . .”

Pekoyama, staring at her master, frowned. She suddenly cleared her throat, drawing the Yakuza’s attention.

“Young Master . . . You look ridiculous.”

A beat passed.

Kuzuryu burst out laughing, eyes swirling. “Why thank you, Peko! I appreciate it . . . Yeah, that’s right everyone. Keep laughing at me!”

He was still laughing when Komaeda entered. Hands in his pocket, the Luckster lazily scanned the rooftop, stopping when his eyes landed on Naegi. Naegi, feeling Komaeda’s attention on him, perked up. He shifted his weight from foot to foot impatiently, wondering why Komaeda wasn’t coming over already.

Meanwhile, his mood having significantly improved, Kuzuryu snagged a folding chair for himself and set it up in the roof’s center. The others began to mimic him as Hanamura began serving cocoa. Tsumiki asked Naegi where he wanted to sit; he answered vaguely, too busy watching Komaeda as he ambled towards them.

“Here you go! I hope being in contact with me doesn’t taint the taste,” Komaeda said as he handed each of them a mug of cocoa.

“You’re not having any?” Naegi asked.

Komaeda said, “Oh, I will. But I wouldn’t dare grab some for myself without making sure you two were served first.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you . . .” Tsumiki sighed. “You shouldn’t inconvenience yourself for me though. I. . .”

She stopped suddenly, and glanced down at Naegi.

“ . . . Thank you, Komaeda-kun,” she said instead.

Komaeda beamed, nearly shuddering with delight at being thanked. He was gone and back before long, this time with his own steaming mug, and the three of them set up their chairs right behind the glass.

“Look down there,” Komaeda said. “See those people. They’re the ones setting up the show.”

Naegi squinted. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought he could see a few bodies scurrying back and forth. On an impulse, he waved.

“They can’t see you!” Kuzuryu said somewhere behind him. Naegi automatically looked in that direction, and just _barely_ managed to stop himself from choking when he saw Kuzuryu’s new look again.

The Yakuza continued, “Even if they could and they didn’t have the helmets on, they wouldn’t wave. Yakuza don’t do that.”

“Yakuza?” he repeated uncertainly.

Seated at the foot of his chair like a dog, Pekoyama stared at the ground.

“Yep. Pretty much all of the fuckers around here used to be part of the Yakuza.” Kuzuryu reclined in his chair and laughed, eyes swirling. “They’re still killing people and serving me though, so I guess nothing’s fucking changed.”

 _They were your friends once,_ Naegi thought sadly. He looked at Pekoyama again. In that instant, she had also looked up, and now their eyes met. There seemed to be a moment where the Swordswoman wasn’t quite sure what to think, but then her face hardened and she pointedly looked away.

“Awesome!”

That had been Soda. The Mechanic was tucking a cellphone into his pocket and waving at the rest of them with his other hand. “We’re all set to go!”

“Whoo-hoo!” Mioda seemed ready to whip out her guitar right there. “Let’s blow things up!”

“Hey, Naegi-kun!” Soda said. “We weren’t sure what kind of fireworks you wanted, so we set up both.”

“What do you –?”

Soda pulled what looked like a detonator out of his pocket, and clicked the button.

 _Boom_.

Although they were a safe distance away, Naegi still felt the world shake as the explosives went off and tore apart the foundation of one of the already-ruined buildings. What was left of it was consumed in a fiery ball that saw flaming bits and pieces spring into the sky. The bright light etched out a striking image that engraved itself into the world and seemed to remain even when the fire was gone. The building had been reduced to a smoking black pile that was already disappearing into the shadows of its neighbours.

“Mikan, nobody lives here, right?”

“Uh, everyone left a long time ago.”

“I see.”

The smoke began to settle.

“. . . Can we blow up another one?”

Naegi didn’t expect half the group to start cheering, but they did. Owari and Nidai were on their feet shouting incoherently, quickly joined by Mioda. Soda actually came over and slapped Naegi on the back, telling him, “That’s the spirit!”

And then they blew up another one.

Soda let him press the button for the third one and in a warped, malicious way, Naegi’s gut twisted in excitement as they felt the world shake. It was fine. Nobody lived there. The building was already ruined.

Plus, what kind of guy never fantasized about blowing something up?

They blew up five in total. That was all they had set up. After that, Soda called whomever was in charge and ordered the real fireworks to start as Hanamura went around refilling mugs. Naegi eagerly accepted the refill; the rich contents of the previous one were sitting comfortably in his stomach.

“This is really good!” he told the Chef.

“Of course it is,” Hanamura said. “This isn’t the disgusting powdered stuff you and my lovely nurse had before. This is genuine. I mixed and melted the chocolate myself.”

After Hanamura moved on, Tsumiki suddenly looked down at her mug and whimpered. “D-disgusting. Oh, I know I was . . .”

“Mikan . . .” Naegi was ready to reach for her –

She looked at him and suddenly cleared her throat. “Th-there’s always next time, I guess.”

Naegi stared it. It took him a few moments to understand what had happened, but then he understood.

“Yeah, there is,” he said, smiling.

“And maybe next time, we can go on a field trip and blow up one a _really_ big building!” Soda announced cheerfully, plopping down on the armrest of Naegi’s seat. “I dunno if you thought that was awesome, but it’s nothing like going after the real thing.”

Naegi certainly had no problems with that – anything that let him leave this place was good in his mind – however . . .

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Komaeda said. “It isn’t safe out there.”

Yep. He expected that.

“Oh, yeah.” Soda sighed. “Watching a building blow up by video isn’t the same, is it? But at least we got fireworks. Make sure you tell us which ones you like after so we can make more of ‘em.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Naegi said.

“Sure, we do. That’s what friends do.” Soda suddenly looked away, and rubbed the back of his head. “Uh, so, yeah. I don’t really get what’s up with that whole ‘I think I was kidnapped’ business, but like, that’s not what’s going on here. I mean, you know that, right? We’re your friends, aren’t we?”

It was like being punched in the face. Naegi was fortunate that his reaction was to freeze in place – smile included. Yes. That was right. _That_ was the incident leading up to this in the first place.

Naegi looked straight ahead and shrugged. The ~~not a-~~ lie slipped easily from his lips. “Of course.”

“Awesome! That’s a load off my mind.” Soda ruffled his hair before getting to his feet. “Alright, let’s sit back and enjoy the show.”

Scarcely a second later, the first of the fireworks went off. Again, the trio of Owari, Nidai and Mioda began to cheer, joined this time by Soda. Hand covering her mouth, Tsumiki made an awed sound. If he was reading things correctly, even Pekoyama seemed to be having a good time.

Naegi watched the fireworks, smiling on the outside.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Komaeda asked, his eyes reflecting the nearby sparklers.

“They are,” Naegi agreed.

Komaeda smiled. He leaned back, arm falling over Naegi’s armrest so that the tips of his finger brushed his hip. Naegi didn’t even twitch.

The fireworks really were beautiful. He hadn’t seen any since last New Year’s with his family. . . well, technically that was two New Year’s ago, but he couldn’t remember the time between. That thought gave him pause, cooled his emotions like water being poured over a flame. Naegi glanced around him at the crowd entranced by the beautiful display.

_Don’t forget. . . You don’t belong here . . ._

He looked upward again as a massive crosette fireworks went off.

_. . . You’re not one of them._

Tsumiki laughed in joy. She was leaning against the armrest, so that her long hair pooled over her side and onto Naegi’s lap.

_Don’t forget . . . You can’t forget this time._

Komaeda’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder and Naegi turned his head to see the Luckster grinning at him.

Naegi smiled back.

* * *

“Did you enjoy that?” Komaeda asked.

“I did,” Naegi said. “It was really beautiful.”

Komaeda asked. “I know, isn’t it amazing? None of them have a talent for explosives or fireworks, yet they were still able to put something together that would dwarf anything I could come up with.”

Naegi didn’t say anything about that. He turned back to the glass wall in front of him and stared out at the horizon.

“. . . Komaeda-kun, where have you been the last couple of days?” When there was no immediate answer, he tried to backtrack. “Ah, sorry! I didn’t mean to pry. I just . . .”

Komaeda held up his hand. “It’s fine, Naegi-kun. I was just surprised you would notice the absence of someone like me. It’s nothing bad. I’m not mad at you or anything. Actually, I’ve been working on a surprise for you.”

“You have?” Somehow, Naegi managed to keep the apprehension out of his voice.

“It’s something good, of course,” Komaeda said. “Something to help you sleep at night and keep the bad thoughts away. You’ll like it, I promise. I wouldn’t spend so much time on it if I thought otherwise.”

“I see.”

Komaeda closed his eyes. Yet his hands still found Naegi’s shoulders without difficulty, and reeled him in so that his chin could sit upon his head. Those hands slid down to his back afterwards as Komaeda held him in an odd hug.

And a distance away, where Hanamura was gathering up the last of the abandoned mugs, Tsumiki watched them. The Nurse worried at her lower lip, distracted from her duty of assisting the Chef.

“. . . Bullying?” she whispered to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
> 
> Kuzuryu: ...  
> Pekoyama: Oh...  
> Kuzuryu: I forgot about the fucking bear!


	41. The Bodyguard

Eyes wide, breaths short and uneven, Naegi scrambled as far back as the handcuffs would allow him. They bit harshly into his wrist but in his panic, he didn’t notice the pain. Kuma was there, all fierce and frightening, his weight causing the foot of the bed to groan and bend as it bore his weight. The bear had his front paws on the bed, claws piercing the mattress, droplets of blood and drool falling from his jaws and sinking in the fabric.

Kuma tugged once, and the would-be assassin twisted off the bed and hit the ground.

Naegi held his pillow close, needing something to squeeze. Kuma was snarling, breath a deep rumble as he brought his weight up, and then slammed down onto the prone body. Naegi hadn’t even see him charge. He had been waking from a nap, roused by a noise he now knew to have been Tsumiki shouting at him from across the room. He had opened his eyes to see the masked, cloaked stranger draw his knife above him . . . and then there had been fur and growling and crunching –

And now the assassin was on the ground with an angry bear mauling his arm.

“Makoto!” Tsumiki nearly tripped in her haste to reach him. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

It took him a couple tries to speak. “I-I’m fine.”

As Tsumiki started running her fingers through his hair in search of a wound, Naegi chanced a look at his attacker. Kuma still had hold of his arm. He didn’t shake it like a dog would – he didn’t need to. His raw mass and strength were all he needed to disable an opponent, and he had gnawed his way up the arm like a dog with a bone. There was blood all over the man’s chest now . . .

“Kuma! Kuma, that’s enough!”

He didn’t expect it to work, but it did. The bear looked up at him, and then shifted his weight back. He sat down, blinking slowly, acting as though he had just been for a lovely stroll.

“Mikan, could you . . .?” He gestured uselessly at the man clutching his arm.

“H-huh?” She accidentally tugged his hair. “But he tried to hurt you!”

Though he had just slept, he felt so very, very tired. “That doesn’t mean we have to let him bleed like that.”

The assassin groaned. He rolled over, facing them. “Y-you guys were the ones –”

“Fuck!”

Kuzuryu’s loud exclamation silenced them all. He had no idea how long the Yakuza had been standing in the doorway. Kuzuryu strode into the room – oh, looked like he had dyed his hair blond again – Pekoyama at his heels. He ordered the Swordswoman to carry the assassin out of the infirmary and then approached them.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“He tried to attack Makoto,” Tsumiki whined. The very thought seemed to send her into a frenzy and next thing Naegi knew, she was trying to pull his shirt off to make sure he wasn’t injured under there. Somehow, someway, he managed to fend her off.

“Kuma got there first,” Naegi said. “He saved me.”

“. . . I see. Hold on, I got to take care of that.”

* * *

Kuzuryu marched out of the room, immediately approaching Pekoyama who was waiting nearby. She supported the hired assassin with one arm, letting him droop ungracefully towards the ground.

She nodded. “Young Master.”

“We can’t have him talking,” Kuzuryu said.

As the man started to protest, Pekoyama swiftly drew a knife with her other hand and slit his throat. Once the man stopped moving, she let him drop unceremoniously. She turned to Kuzuryu. The Yakuza had his face in his hands, and was making some kind of angry sound under his breath.

“Young Master?”

“I forgot about the fucking bear!” Kuzuryu hissed. “Shit! I . . . No, I can salvage this. I’m not going to be thwarted by a goddamn bear.”

“What is your –?”

“Stop asking stupid questions and follow me. Oh, and you!” Kuzuryu shouted at a random Monokuma soldier. “Tell Tanaka to drop by. We don’t need him wasting prisoners when there’s a perfectly good body here.”

* * *

“I get that bear’s a good bodyguard and all, but it’s still an animal. I’m not comfortable having that thing be in charge of your safety right now . . . which is why I’m going to loan you Peko.”

Naegi’s mouth drop opened. “You –!”

“Young Master!?”

Kuzuryu slapped his subordinate on the back. “You’re going to serve this kid and protect him until I tell you not to. Have fun.”

With that, the Yakuza left the room, leaving a very awkward silence behind.

Naegi had seen Pekoyama’s face after Kuzuryu insulted her, after he called her worthless or ignored her or threw her off to the side. But he had never seen her look as lost or hurt as she did now. She even forgot to glare at him when she finally looked away from the doors her real master had left through, and down at her shaking fists. 

“I’m so sorry,” Naegi said, not knowing what else to do.

Pekoyama’s face suddenly went cold.

“We should secure one of these doors,” she said. “One is enough. Two is only good for allowing more attackers to come in at once.”

With that, the Swordswoman walked up to the double doors leading out of the infirmary and locked it.

“The bear should sleep there.” She pointed at a spot between Naegi and the door. “Forgive me, Tsumiki-san, but I don’t expect you can help physically defend him. . . but you should have trauma equipment and a good supply of blood transfusions prepared in case we need to act quickly.”

Tsumiki blinked. “Transfusions. . .”

 “I . . . uh . . .” He inched backwards, painfully aware of how close the Nurse was to a needle right now. Tsumiki seemed to rotate on her feet and shambled forward –

“Makoto, what’s your blood type?”

“. . . A-Positive?”

“Okay, I’ll have to see if I can find some suitable blood!”

Oh. So he wasn’t about to get stabbed with a needle. Crisis adverted –

He jumped when Pekoyama grabbed the back of the bedframe and started pushing.

The Swordswoman said, “We should move him closer to the back. Put up one of those privacy screens to hide him from sight. We can replace this bed and place a dummy there to draw their aggression. That should give me enough time to –

“Uh, I don’t think this is really necessary,” Naegi said, a little frightened by how robotic Pekoyama seemed right now. “I mean, it’s going to be really hard for someone to get this far to try and attack me anyways, right?”

Tsumiki whined. “That . . . _monster_ did!”

Oh. That was true. Come to speak of it, how _did_ that assassin get in. Ultimate Despair’s headquarters seemed pretty secure, and there wasn’t an attack by the Future Foundation this time to distract them . . .

“My duty is to protect you,” Pekoyama said firmly. She began pushing the entire bed towards the back. “Nothing else matters until the master says otherwise.”

“. . . You could just uncuff me and let me walk there,” Naegi muttered under his breath.

Not long after, he was in the back of the infirmary with a privacy screen set up between him and the exit. Pekoyama had pulled a chair up, positioning herself in the small space that anyone would have to travel through if they intended to go around the screen to see him. Tsumiki had run off to find blood, and Kuma was ~~licking the blood off his claws~~ napping in the area Naegi’s bed had used to be. And Pekoyama was sitting in her chair.

And staring.

Just . . . staring.

Had she even blinked?

Naegi pulled the blanket up to his chin and hid behind it.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Watching you.”

“. . . Why?”

“To make sure you come to no harm,” Pekoyama said.

Great.

“Could you stare less?” he tried.

“My duty is to protect you.”

“. . . I see.”

Well, maybe he could still work with this. He put down the blanket and got as close to the Swordswoman as he could. “Okay, let’s talk then!”

“No.”

“But –!”

“I have no interest in speaking with you,” she said firmly.

“But . . .”

Nothing visibly changed in her expression, and yet Naegi felt as though something did and shied back. Was this really how it was going to be? Not only was it very disappointing, it was also _very_ uncomfortable. He wasn’t even sure why Pekoyama disliked him so much. No, wait. He did. It was the whole Enoshima thing that also had Mikan fawning over him. Which was ridiculous because none of it was even true. He had no true link to Ultimate Despair.

He frowned, thinking.

“Pekoyama-san, wouldn’t it be in your best interest to talk to me?”

Pekoyama didn’t react.

Naegi spoke slowly, watching his bodyguard like a hawk. “I you’re trying to stay out of despair for Kuzuryu-kun, right? That’s your real duty. And the best way to stay out of despair is to have hope and I’m . . . I’m the Ultimate Hope. Keeping people away from despair is supposed to be my job. So, talking to me would help you, wouldn’t it?”

She didn’t say anything.

“Pekoyama-san . . .”

“What do you want?” she said through gritted teeth.

Naegi smiled and settled back into a cross-legged position. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I am the servant of the Kuzuryu Clan,” she droned. “I am the Young Master’s sword; his to wield at any –”

“Not that stuff,” Naegi said. “Tell me about _you_.”

Some of the coldness finally gave way in place of confusion. “That is me.”

Naegi managed to stifle a sigh. He had a feeling he was going to have to be more direct with her.

“Okay, tell me what you like!” he said, bouncing in his spot.

“The Young Master enjoys westerns,” she said. “He enjoys the romanticized depiction of the outlaw life and . . .”

“But that’s not what you like,” Naegi said. “That’s what Kuzuryu-kun likes.”

“There is no difference,” Pekoyama said.

He couldn’t say anything for a little while. She had said that without a hint of inflection. How . . . just _how_? How could someone be so lacking in individuality? It was horrible, and he couldn’t help but question what kind of person Kuzuryu was even before Enoshima got to him –

No. No, he shouldn’t think like that. Kuzuryu got despair from hurting Pekoyama, didn’t he? Which meant he had to honestly care about her. Whatever had turned Pekoyama into this wasn’t his fault. He was sure that like the pre-despair Mikan he glimpsed, Kuzuryu was a good person inside.

“There’s got to be something _you_ like,” Naegi said. “Something that doesn’t involve him. Or, we could even talk about something you dislike. Or, something you’ve always wanted to do or wondered about, or anything! I’m not picky or anything, I just want to talk to you.”

Unfortunately, his energy only seemed to scare the reserved Swordswoman. She finally looked away from him – just when he didn’t want her to! Though it might not have been that she was unnerved; she might have been distracted by Kuma attempting to stand and lean his weight on the privacy screen.

Needless to say, the screen didn’t last much longer.

Kuma did not seem bothered by the sudden fall to the ground. He sniffed a piece of ripped screen, and then wandered over to Naegi’s bed. He raised his head so that it fell directly into Naegi’s palm. It was a demand for petting and so, that’s exactly what Naegi did. But when he lifted his eyes from Kuma, it was to see Pekoyama staring at the bear with a very peculiar expression. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Do you like bears?” he asked.

“I have no opinion on them,” Pekoyama answered.

“What about Kuma? Do you like him?”

“I also have no opinion on him.”

Naegi frowned, trying to think of something else he could ask. Pekoyama _had_ reacted to Kuma, but he didn’t know how to urge the explanation as to why out of her.

But then . . . Pekoyama didn’t strike him as a sneaky person. Maybe it was best to just ask her directly.

“Pekoyama-san, a couple of minutes ago you were giving Kuma a really odd look. What was that about?”

She hesitated.

He finally had her.

“So, what is it? Do you like Kuma? Do you not like him? Did you know about him before Tanaka-kun brought him here? Oh, were you two friends before?” He started bouncing again, stopping only when he went too high and the handcuffs reminded him of his limits.

Pekoyama mumbled something.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

She took a deep breath. With the air of someone about to admit something truly embarrassing, she said, “He looks fluffy.”

Naegi laughed. “He is pretty fluffy . . . Do you want to pet him?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “It is best that I keep my distance.”

“But we don’t mind!” Naegi said. “I mean look at him. Kuma loves being petted!”

Speaking of which, Kuma was currently panting, chin pointed upwards in that smug fashion of cats as he basked in the sensation of Naegi rubbing his neck.

“I do not get along with animals,” Pekoyama said. “They flee from me as they can detect my dangerous nature. To them, I am no better than the predator that stalks them in the night.”

“. . . But he’s a bear. I don’t think he’d be scared of you even if you were the Ultimate Hunter.”

Kuma grunted, as if agreeing.

“Go on!” Naegi said. “Just try it.”

Pekoyama stated at him, as if waiting for him to declare it was all a joke. But when she saw that Naegi’s smile wasn’t changing and his determination wasn’t wavering, she sighed, walked over and reached out for Kuma . . .

To his surprise, he felt the bear stiffen under his hand and saw his hackles rise.

“Kuma!” Acting quickly, Naegi bopped the bear on the nose just as he had seen Tanaka do. “She’s a friend, be nice.”

Kuma did lower his hackles, but he pointedly turned his head away from Pekoyama. The Swordswoman looked like she was about to pull back, but Naegi put on his brightest smile and smiled at her until she rolled her eyes and gave in.

Pekoyama placed her hand on Kuma’s back. She patted him awkwardly; it didn’t seem like she really understood _how_ to pet an animal. Perhaps it would have been humorous, but Naegi suspected too much about her childhood. He started petting Kuma himself again, quietly demonstrating the proper technique.

“. . . He’s very soft,” Pekoyama said.

“I was surprised too!” Naegi said. “Tanaka-kun took really good care of him.”

Kuma still wasn’t facing Pekoyama,  but he seemed less grumpy. Naegi took that as a good sign.

“Pekoyama-san . . . What was Kuzuryu-kun like before?”

She acted as though she hadn’t heard him at first and continued petting Kuma. He couldn’t really blame her. He knew the Young Master would be a sensitive topic for her.

And yet . . .

“He was . . . different,” Pekoyama said.

She didn’t say anything after that. Naegi noticed her hand had stilled.

“You both were, weren’t you?”

“I am the Young Master’s tool,” Pekoyama said. “Just as the yakuza were the Young Master’s servants. But the Young Master understood the value of that. He understood the need to keep a sword sharpened and polished, and the necessity of keeping subordinates well-fed and supplied. He believed in awarding competence, and in benefiting the Clan over himself. He. . . he had a good heart. They trusted him.”

She clenched a fistful of Kuma’s fur. “When he ordered them to put on those helmets, they did not question it. They obeyed, as they were meant to. The Young Master’s betrayal was inconceivable until it was too late.”

“So, the yakuza . . .”

“Most of the soldiers you see here were once the yakuza. He keeps them close. I suppose it helps sate his hunger for despair.”

They were quiet. Kuma grunted and lifted his head, wondering why they had stopped petting him.

“Pekoyama-san,” Naegi asked, “why didn’t he make you wear a helmet?”

“I am not sure,” she said slowly. “I imagine that allowing me to keep my free will is more despairing for him. A puppet cannot feel hurt.”

“Hmm. . .” Naegi stared off into the distance, thinking. “Are you sure that’s it? You said it yourself, didn’t you? He still calls you Peko.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Pekoyama said. “He has the right to call me whatever he wants.”

“But that’s not true! If you didn’t think it meant anything, you wouldn’t have brought it up before.”

“What does it matter?” she asked. “It changes nothing.”

“No, it changes everything!” Naegi insisted. “If Kuzuryu-kun spared you and is still calling you Peko, then that must mean he feels something for you, right? It means he’s still there somewhere, just like Mikan and the others are. It means that despite whatever happened to him, he’s still holding out; he’s still fighting it. Otherwise . . . wouldn’t he have killed you like Enoshima-san killed her sister?”

Something in her posture went rigid. “That’s –”

“If hurting you is really what brings him despair, then killing you would bring him even greater despair and that’s all Ultimate Despair cares about . . . But he hasn’t killed you. Now that I think about it, that’s actually a big contradiction, isn’t it? You’re not Despair like they are, you obviously mean a lot to him, but you’re alive. You should be dead.”

He leaned forward. His wrist strained against the handcuff like a dog straining against its leash.

“Don’t you see it, too? He didn’t spare you for despair. Kuzuryu-kun just doesn’t want to hurt you.”

He leaned forward even more, and laid his hand atop hers.

“Pekoyama-san, we can save him.”

A moment’s pause. Then, she tore her hand away.

“. . .You’re spending too much time with Komaeda-kun,” she said as she returned to her seat. She sat there, back rigid, emotionless.

But when he met her eyes, she looked away.

He wasn’t sure, but he thought that meant something.


	42. The Tapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've come to a compromise between the canon and fanon fall of Class 77th. The background I will be going with for the Remnants is that Enoshima manipulated them and destabilized them emotionally to bring them to the brink of despair, and then she brainwashed them to plunge them over the edge and keep them there.
> 
> Why, no, there's no reason I chose to reveal this now! It certainly is not something to keep in mind for future chapters!

“. . . And you are just the cutest bear ever, aren’t you? Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”

Naegi wasn’t a fool. He knew he looked ridiculous baby-talking a grizzly that was probably over five times his weight, but he couldn’t help it. Kuma had his head in his lap – nothing more, or Naegi’s legs would probably be crushed – and was laying down like a sphinx – not sitting, or he would be too tall. And he had those huge dark eyes that would flutter occasionally as Naegi rubbed him in that spot behind his ear, and . . . and Mikan herself had told him to cuddle with Kuma, hadn’t she? He was only following her wishes.

(And didn’t he deserve this? Kuma was an animal. He wasn’t going to lie to him, or trick him, or lock him in a room and never let him out. Kuma was a good bear.)

Still seated within a few feet from his bed, Pekoyama glanced sideways. If Naegi had been watching her instead of basically wrapping himself around Kuma’s neck in a hug, he might have noticed that and heeded the warning.

(Though truth be told, it wouldn’t have made any difference)

It wasn’t long before icy-cold fingers touched the back of his neck.

Naegi turned.

His eyes lit up.

“Komaeda-kun!”

“Hi, Naegi-kun!” Komaeda was smiling, but he seemed a little shaky. Actually, when Naegi really looked closely at him . .

“You seem . . . paler,” Naegi said.

At first, it was like Komaeda hadn’t heard him. That shaky smile remained fixed on his face. But then the shoulders began to move, and Komaeda started to giggle breathlessly.

“Naegi-kun . . . Naegi-kun!” Komaeda suddenly swept downwards, cupping his hands around Naegi’s ear as if to tell him a great secret. “I’m O-negative! I’m the universal donor. I’ve always said I would give my blood for you, and now my dream has come true!” Komaeda squealed, wrapping his arms around himself as he rocked from side to side. “Oh, I know I shouldn’t think this way, but I really hope you need my blood someday!”

At that moment, Tsumiki came into view. “Okay, I’ve put the transfusions away in storage!”

Oh, so that’s what she had been doing.

Komaeda was staring at Pekoyama now, giving Tsumiki the chance to slip in and gently shoulder him away. She wrapped her arms tight around Naegi and clung to him, allowing her to whisper to him without fear of Komaeda overhearing.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t give you his blood. He’s t-too sick. He just . . . he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and kept begging . . .”

Naegi nodded.

Komaeda spoke then, but not to them. “I hope you can forgive me for questioning you, Pekoyama-san, but I honestly never expected to see you here. Not without Kuzuryu-kun.”

Naegi winced. Oh, that had been the wrong thing to say. Thankfully, Pekoyama wasn’t one for tantrums, and she merely grit her teeth and looked away.

“Kuzuryu-kun wanted her to protect me after this morning. . .” Too late, Naegi realized he might have also said the exact wrong thing. “Did anyone tell you what happened?”

“Yes, Kuzuryu-kun filled us in.”

He said that calmly, and that caught Naegi by surprise. Even Tsumiki seemed calm. He had definitely expected her to flare up when the recent assassination attempt was brought up again, but neither of them seemed the least bit concerned. Granted, Komaeda hadn’t acted outwardly angry last time, but he’d happily gone along with Kuzuryu’s plan to . . . punish the perpetrator.

He brought his legs in closer to himself. Had he . . . had he really angered them that much by trying to run away? No, no. That was silly. Tsumiki had started sobbing the first time they spoke after that incident. He was being silly.

( _They still cared about him, right?_ )

“Naegi-kun?”

Naegi looked up more sharply than he meant to. Something like hope bubbled inside him.

“Could you be a little more specific about what Kuzuryu-kun said about Pekoyama-san?” Komaeda asked.

“Uh, I basically explained it,” Naegi said. “Kuzuryu-kun wants her to protect me for a while.”

Komaeda tapped his chin. “Hmm. I have a feeling he didn’t quite put it that way. Maybe we should ask Pekoyama-san.”

It didn’t look like she was going to answer.

“Nothing?” Komaeda shrugged easily. “Ah, maybe if you ask nicely. Go on, Naegi-kun. Tell her to answer.”

He didn’t really think Pekoyama would give in because _he_ said anything, but Naegi listened anyways. “Pekoyama-san, can you-?”

“ _Tell_ her. Don’t ask her,” Komaeda said.

“Komaeda-kun?” That was Tsumiki speaking. Naegi had to agree with her sentiment. Just where was Komaeda going with this? He wasn’t her Young Master, and Naegi wasn’t even sure if Pekoyama liked him that much.

“Just try it,” Komaeda said. “Please?”

He really didn’t understand this.

“Pekoyama-san, please tell him what Kuzuryu-kun told you.”

He thought he saw her sigh.

Yet, she answered, “I am to serve and guard Naegi Makoto until the Young Master says otherwise.”

Komaeda nodded, satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

“That’s exactly what I told you,” Naegi said.

“Not quite. You assumed that Kuzuryu-kun hired you a bodyguard, but he actually gave you his _sword_.” Komaeda stepped towards Pekoyama, hands clasped together in front of his chest. He spoke to her now. “You must be so excited! It’s such a high honour to be the tool of the Ultimate Hope! I remember how excited I was when I realized I was about to graduate from serving Ultimates to serving _Hope_. I couldn’t sleep for two days!”

“Komaeda-kun, she’s not my tool,” Naegi said, tugging at the other teen’s hoodie. “She’s just keeping an eye on me. She’s more of a babysitter than anything.”

Komaeda’s smile was dark. “Is that what you think? We could always test it. Go on. Tell her to do something and we’ll see if she’ll listen. We’ll see if she _can’t_ listen.”

A chill went down his back.

“I don’t want to,” he mumbled.

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Komaeda said. “I guess it doesn’t really matter either way. Say, when’s the last time you took Kuma for a walk?”

“Umm . . .”

“I mean I know he’s not a dog, but I don’t think you want him trying to use this place as a giant litter box!”

“I know. Mikan took care of that for me before, but I wouldn’t mind taking him out myself . . .” He raised his shackled wrist hopefully –

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Komaeda said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know you’re not allowed outside, and after what happened recently. . .”

Oh. He lowered his wrist again. He should have figured that would be the answer. Tsumiki had also nibbled at the edges of a similar answer when he had asked her.

“I don’t usually take him out for another hour . . .” Tsumiki said.

“An hour’s not a big difference,” Komaeda said. “You might as well do it now and make sure you don’t forget later. Go on.”

Naegi stared at the Luckster, stunned.

Tsumiki fidgeted in place. “Umm . . .”

“Go on, Tsumiki-san. It shouldn’t take you long.” As he spoke, Komaeda turned away from Tsumiki and towards Naegi, dismissing the Nurse with a flick of his wrist. Naegi would have said something in response to Komaeda’s rudeness, but Komaeda’s stormy grey eyes were suddenly fixed on him, and he froze.

“Oh, umm, sorry. I’ll take him out now.”

Tsumiki brought out the little rope that served as Kuma’s leash, tied it to the collar around his neck and then bribed the bear away with a marshmallow. Komaeda’s sharp eyes tracked her. He gave her a little wave as the two moved out of sight.

The door shut, and Komaeda spoke again. “I have to say – not that I’m trying to doubt the Ultimate Nurse or anything – but I’m a little surprised she was put on bear-walking duty instead of someone like Nidai-kun.”

“Kuma likes her,” Naegi said, “and she’s not going to be mean to him either, so I don’t really see why it wouldn’t be a good match.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just that, well, he’s a bear.” Komaeda looked in the direction of the infirmary exit, sucking in his bottom lip as if worried. “If something happened, I don’t know how she’d be able to protect herself.”

“Kuma wouldn’t hurt her! He’s a good bear.”

“He’s still an animal,” Komaeda said. “It might not be anything that drastic either. Kuma’s big, and Tsumiki-san isn’t a very forceful person. If he saw a squirrel or something and decided to go after it, Tsumiki-san would have a hard time bringing him back under control. I just worry about her a bit. What do you think, Pekoyama-san?”

Pekoyama, he noticed, was watching Komaeda very closely. There was a cold glint to her eyes, as if she were sizing up a threat.

“Pekoyama-san, can you please answer him?” Naegi asked. He didn’t like asking that of her; he didn’t like the idea that he was playing into what Komaeda had been talking about earlier, but he needed that question answered. If he was accidentally putting Tsumiki into danger, then he needed to know. She didn’t deserve that. He didn’t want to be putting her in any danger if he could help it, especially when she’d been so kind to him and tried so hard.

“I will concede that Komaeda has a point,” Pekoyama said.

So he was putting her into danger. Naegi curled into himself, stomach suddenly cramping miserably.

Then, he had an idea.

“Pekoyama-san, could you go with her?”

The Swordswoman looked at Komaeda, then at him sharply. “My orders are to protect you –”

“It won’t be that long,” Naegi said. “And even when you were protecting Kuzuryu-kun instead of me, you weren’t with him _all_ the time. Remember? You took me back to my room once.”

“I don’t think he’s going to change his mind,” Komaeda said lightly. “You should probably _listen_. I don’t think Kuzuryu-kun would be happy if you didn’t.”

Pekoyama gave Komaeda another sharp look, then wordlessly stood and went after Kuma and Tsumiki. Komaeda watched her go, stretching lazily.

“So, she’s your new bodyguard. Well, I can’t imagine we’ll ever need to worry about you again. It’s going to take a lot more than an ordinary assassin to get past the Ultimate Swordswoman, especially if she’s always around.”

“I guess,” Naegi said. He eyed Komaeda. The praise and deprecation of normal people sounded like something Komaeda would say, but it still sounded wrong. Komaeda’s voice had lacked the enthusiasm it was usually layered with. It was as if the Luckster wasn’t actually happy that Pekoyama would be there.

And Komaeda suddenly turned on his heel. “Remember that thing I was working on?”

“You mentioned it,” Naegi said diplomatically. He remembered what Komaeda’s last ‘surprise’ had been.

“Just wait here. I’ll be right back!”

Komaeda returned pushing the TV. He set it up right beyond the foot of the bed, between Naegi and the chair that Pekoyama would sit in, and popped something into the DVD player. With a bounce in his step, Komaeda plopped down on the side of Naegi’s bed. He held something in his hands; it looked like a cassette player. He handed Naegi the earphones attached to it.

“I know you’re going through a rough time right now,” Komaeda said, “but that doesn’t mean we can slack off. You understand, don’t you?”

Naegi’s blood ran cold. His heart flip-flopped and jerked before diving into his stomach. Komaeda . . . Komaeda was still going to do . . . _things_. Though if he thought about it, he should have expected this. Kamukura may have promised that Komaeda hadn’t gone after his sister, but the fact of the matter was that Naegi had still done something that Komaeda wouldn’t have approved of in the slightest.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He felt like he was sinking into the mattress. “I didn’t mean to upset you when I ran away.”

Komaeda said nothing. He reached into his hoodie, and pulled out a remote.

The TV turned on.

Part of him had expected to see _the man_ again. Either dead or in the process of dying by his own hands. But it wasn’t that man who showed up, or the room he remembered. This was a wide open space he saw, an outside space. It did not look at all like _that_  situation, but like . . . like . . . Oh! Like that small window of footage he’d seen of Princess Nevermind executing –

That’s what it was.

“Komaeda-kun, I don’t want to watch this!” His voice trembled on the first syllable, and he fed that handsomely. Maybe if he played it up, Komaeda would go easy on him. Maybe he’d have mercy –

“I know, I know.” Komaeda reeled him in with one arm. His lips brushed against Naegi’s forehead. “I know it’s hard, and you’re still scared after that last incident. Which I was I wanted to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?”

“Yep.” Komaeda paused the video. “Five minutes, Naegi-kun. That’s all. And for every five minutes you watch, I’ll let you listen to five minutes of this.”

He waved the cassette player. Warily, Naegi inserted the earplugs, keeping an eye on Komaeda as he did.

For a few seconds, there was nothing.

Then, a female voice.

“ _Naegi-kun . . ._ ”

The name shot down his spine, igniting his nerves like a lightning bolt.

“. . . Kirigiri-san?”

“That’s right!” Komaeda said cheerfully. “Your friends have been really busy making speeches, and I’ve also got a friend on the inside to record what they’ve been saying out of the public eye, too. So, I went ahead and put together a ‘Greatest Hits’ compilation for you. I tried to at least, but I’m probably not talented enough to have picked out all the wonderful things they said. So, do we have a deal?”

Kirigiri-san . . . He could still hear her speaking. To him, her speaking his name held a note of finality, like she had been the one to name him. It seemed to reach down to the very molecules of his being, making each of them wriggle and vibrate in excitement.

“Is my family there, too?” he asked eagerly.

Komaeda frowned. “Just your friends, I’m afraid.”

Oh.

The disappointment was a temporary setback. Soon enough, his excitement came back full force. What Komaeda was offering, it seemed too good to be true. And . . .and it was. He looked back at the TV, where the paused image lay. He couldn’t forget that this didn’t come without strings. Nothing did. That’s why he needed to get out of here. But . . .

He licked his lips, mouth dry.

“Well?” Komaeda urged.

He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to hear their voices _so badly_ , but then he’d have to watch _that_. Was . . . was it okay? What would his parents say? He wasn’t really sure. They’d never warned him of anything like this. Nobody had.

“Naegi-kun. . .” Komaeda’s chin dipped, mouth coming close to his ear. “It’s alright, you know. Nobody’s going to blame you.”

Naegi swallowed. His hands shook.

“Naegi-kun . . . they’re already dead.”

He jerked at that, as if an ice cube had been dropped down his shirt.

“The dead don’t come back,” Komaeda said. “No matter how much you wish they could. You know that. Those people in the videos, they died before you came along. You couldn’t have done anything for them then, and you can’t now. Watching these videos isn’t going to change anything. It isn’t going to magically make you responsible. Sometimes, you need to accept there’s nothing you can do and move on.”

Naegi was silent.

“They’re dead,” Komaeda repeated. “But do you know who isn’t?”

He pressed the cassette player into Naegi’s cold hands.

“They aren’t alive, but your friends are,” Komaeda said softly. “And you’ve earned this much, haven’t you? Nobody could blame you.”

Then it was okay? His body felt looser somehow, like a kink had been worked out of his spine. He could hear their voices again. He could pretend they were with him, if only for little while. And . . . it was okay, right? It’s not like Komaeda had killed the people in the videos just for him. It wasn’t his fault. And Komaeda would probably make him watch them later even if he said no, so why not say yes?

He wanted so _badly_ to hear them again.

“Okay,” he said. “Turn it on.”

It was better than he had expected. Last time he’d seen an execution, Nevermind had tortured them with hot iron before delivering the final blow. But this was a flat-out execution. The soldiers, Monokuma ones, knocked the prisoner to her knees, held her still, and then shot her. That was it. She hardly even suffered. Blood gushed onto the ground but apart from that, it wasn’t all that graphic. Almost like watching a movie.

“Alright. That’s five minutes.” The video paused just as it jumped to a new scene.

Naegi tried not to nod too enthusiastically. Still, his heart was tapping out a rapid rhythm as he waited for his reward.

And it came.

“Kirigiri-san . . .” He murmured, speaking as if she were really there next to him. He closed his eyes and soaked in what came next.

“ _It wasn’t me. Naegi Makoto was the true hero of that story. He wouldn’t have been able to solve the mystery without me, but I wouldn’t have survived without him either. Against all reason, he trusted me when it mattered most. And when I turned my back on him, he forgave me without question. I . . . I don’t know if I can ever repay that.”_

There was a chuckle, and then somebody that Naegi did not recognize spoke.

“ _Then leaping down a trash chute wasn’t a sufficient thank you?_ ”

“ _I will ask you not to belittle his accomplishments, Kouichi-kun_. _What I did was hardly a risk._ ”

“ _Alright, alright. It was just a question._ ”

“Kouichi-kun?” Naegi echoed out loud.

“He’s part of the Future Foundation,” Komaeda said. “My source tells me he has a really big soft spot for the Ultimate Detective.”

“Oh, that’s good. It’s nice to know somebody’s watching out for her.”

Kirigiri and Kouichi continued to discussing the Killing Game, straying from the subject of him to Kirigiri’s private investigation into the school. His eyes slowly widened as she did. Wow. _Wow_. He’d always known that Kirigiri was smart, but hearing how she fit facts together and the chains of logic she created was _incredible_. Maybe Kirigiri’s title should have been Ultimate Genius.

“That’s five,” Komaeda said, shutting Kirigiri off in the middle of a sentence. “So, enough for today or . . .”

“No,” Naegi said quickly. “We can keep going.”

The next clip was similar. It was an execution, but of several people this time, lined up side by side. He shied away from the second death, but Komaeda noticed and cleared his throat. Reluctantly, Naegi looked back to the screen.

“I have more than one tape you know. Five, to be exact.” Komaeda said after the allotted time ran out. “Do you want to keep listening to the Ultimate Detective, or somebody else?”

“Put on Togami-kun,” he said. As much as he wanted to keep listen to Kirigiri, he owed it to his friends to give some time for all of them.

It was different. They were talking about him again, but Togami was much less generous with his praise than Kirigiri had been. That was to be expected though; Togami wasn’t one for compliments. In fact, the backhanded praise he was hearing now was more than he had ever expected to get from the Heir.

And that was when the others returned.

Tsumiki seemed to freeze upon seeing the two of them.

“Makoto, are you okay!” she demanded, running towards them.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Naegi asked.

Maybe it was his imagination, but her eyes seemed to flicker to Komaeda for a second.

“We’re watching some videos,” Komaeda said. “Care to join us?”

Tsumiki was easy to convince, and she settled on the other side of Naegi’s bed. Naegi wanted to invite Pekoyama too, but when he asked,  Komaeda cut in and announced that Pekoyama wouldn’t be interested. It was rude, but the Swordswoman didn’t protest and returned to her chair.

Instead of watching the next video, Naegi secretly watched Kuma. Apparently, Kuma had taken a dislike to the privacy screen Pekoyama had tried to erect, and was chewing it to bits.

“Oh, this isn’t very exciting. There’s barely any despair,” Tsumiki said sadly, as the next five-minute slot finished.

“Can you . . . can you put on a different tape?” He had almost straight-out asked for Asahina, but then realized that Tsumiki probably wouldn’t be happy to hear what he was listening to.

Komaeda stared at him.

“Naegi-kun, what colour was his shirt?”

“What?”

“The guy who died, what colour was his shirt?”

He racked his brain, but it was useless. He had barely been paying attention.

“Watch it again,” Komaeda ordered.

And they did. Tsumiki was confused, but she backed down when Naegi sided with Komaeda. Afterwards, he clutched the earplug cord to his chest as he listened to the Ultimate Swimmer speak about him. Her tone was decidedly quieter than Kirigiri and Togami and . . . was she crying? She was. Asahina was crying.

 _I’m sorry_ , he thought, hoping that his words would somehow reach her.

It went on. Naegi watched clips, Komaeda asked questions ( _How many people died? How many bullets were shot? How long did she take before she died from blood loss? Were his eyes opened or closed when he died?_ ), and Naegi answered. Sometimes he got them right; sometimes he didn’t and had to watch them again. Then he curled up with the recordings of his friends (Tsumiki asked, but Komaeda brushed her off). He could tell Tsumiki was really confused, maybe even bored, but she stayed next to him and held his hand as Komaeda watched her from across his body. It seemed that the Luckster was self-conscious about being outdone, and he sidled closer to Naegi so that they touched.

“They’re all talking about me,” Naegi muttered, as Fukawa’s voice filled his ears for the second time.

“I know. I put all those recordings first.” Naegi could feel Komaeda’s fingers running through his hair. “I wanted you to see how much you’ve done for them. You really are special. I hope you understand that.”

Naegi muttered, “Thank you.”

But despite his praise being stacked upon that from friends, he still felt exhausted after Fukawa was cut off for the second time. He shook his head when Komaeda lifted the remote again. Komaeda smiled and took the earplugs back, putting both them and the cassette player on a table that Naegi’s handcuffs rendered just out of reach.

“Nobody but you, Naegi-kun,” Komaeda said. “You are the only person in the world that they would say those things about.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Naegi said.

Komaeda shook his head. “It is. Because there’s nobody else who would have done the things that you did, or could have, for that matter. That’s why I love you.”

“But . . .”

“I don’t really understand what’s going on,” Tsumiki began, “but Komaeda-kun’s right. You’re a very special boy, Makoto.”

Naegi blushed, and spoke into the blanket. “Thank you.”

Komaeda laughed and ruffled his hair, making him blush even more. Back where she was keeping guard, Pekoyama looked off to  the side, lip curling. Nobody else noticed, however, for Tsumiki and Komaeda were too caught up with teasing Naegi and Naegi was too busy being embarrassed.

And Kamukura was in the very back of the room, frowning as he stared at the blank TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
> 
> Naegi: Anime? You woke me up to watch some anime?


	43. The Video

When he suddenly woke alone, his stomach hard as if he had just seen a burglar, Naegi assumed he had woken from another nightmare he couldn’t remember. The lights were dim, Tsumiki having shut them off at his bedtime. He could hear Kuma snoring somewhere, and he knew Tsumiki and Pekoyama would be in the room somewhere. But they hadn’t been the ones to wake him so –

Hold on.

No.

He wasn’t alone.

“Naegi Makoto.” The shadows seemed to part before Kamukura as he stepped forward. He glided across the ground like a spirit, shoulders hardly moving.

“Kamukura-kun?” Naegi rubbed his eyes. “What time it is?”

“Three in the morning.” Kamukura waited for a few seconds. “One past three in the morning.”

“That early? Why did you wake me?” Naegi asked.

“I have something to show you.”

Kamukura was moving towards the foot of the bed. Naegi leaned sideways, trying to see past the TV to the chair beyond.

“She won’t wake,” Kamukura said suddenly. “Neither will Tsumiki. We won’t be disturbed.”

“What about Kuma?”

Kamukura shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I can subdue a bear.”

And the funny thing was, he probably could.

The TV turned on. Right now, it was showing nothing but a blue screen. Still, Naegi frowned and tilted his head.

He said, “You want to show me a video?”

Kamukura loaded something into the DVD player. The blue screen turned black, but still nothing played.

“Naegi Makoto.” Kamukura had his back to him, and he didn’t move once as he spoke. “You are going to watch what I’m about to show you. You are going to watch the entire thing until you understand.”

With that, he pressed Play.

Naegi’s immediate thought was that whatever this video was, it was made years ago. The graphics had a definite old-fashioned feel to it, and the lyricless music was like something you’d hear in an elevator. He was seeing one of those mostly-black title screens with a fancy, curling white border and words in the center . . .

“Subliminal messaging?” Naegi said aloud. That was something he had hardly expected to see.

“You are going to watch it,” Kamukura said.

“ _Subliminal messaging is messages designed to pass below the normal human limits of perception. . ._ ”

Even the narrator sounded like it belonged to an old movie. Either way, it sounded like it was going to be boring. He had no idea why he to watch this. Maybe Kamukura was exercising his Ultimate Old Movie Critic talent? Naegi glanced at him, only to see those stern red eyes fixed on him, and then hurriedly looked back at the screen. Now there was some animated guy walking down a street with exaggerated, swinging arms and huge steps.

The music skipped.

He thought it was his imagination. But then it happened again, accompanied by a little screech. He supposed that wasn’t too surprising; it was only natural for things to decay over time. But then the picture glitched. It flickered black, and then came back. However, around the edges, the colours were pixelated. The pixilation spread inwards, until half the image seemed to be glitched as the music grew more and more bizarre.

“Uh, Kamukura-kun, I think your video got destroyed.”

“Keep watching.”

He didn’t understand, but he did. He could barely see the walking man anymore. The strange, contrasting colours, the flickering patterns, it was actually starting to give him a headache. The music wasn’t much better; the sounds wailed and grated together in his head, rubbing against his senses like sandpaper. It hurt. It actually hurt. It hurt to look at and it hurt to hear and he couldn’t look away –

It felt like . . .

It hurt.

He couldn’t look away.

 _There was something inside his head_.

The colours lashed against his brain like a whip made of fire. He jerked back – _why couldn’t he look away?_ – body twisting unnaturally as his skull slammed against the headboard. Kamukura grabbed his free wrist and before Naegi could control his twitching long enough to _think_ , Kamukura was pinning it down against the rail. The music had ascended into a high-pitched – _what was that?!_ – wail that _wouldn’t stop._ (Where were the others? How could they sleep through this?)

“You are going to watch all of it,” Kamukura rumbled.

It hurt. It hurt it hurt _it hurt_ – Colours weren’t meant to mix that way. He was blind. There was only the screen. And he couldn’t . . . _he couldn’t look away –_

A shuddering gasp escaped him as his eyes fixed on something solid. There in the center of the swirling colours were words.

**Do you see?**

 “ _Subliminal messages work on the subconscious level of the mind,_ ” the narrator said happily. “ _A person is unable to perceive them consciously_.”

**You cannot see if you are awake.**

**Let go. Relax.**

**Live a waking dream.**

His body obeyed against his will. The spasms stopped, for that he was grateful, but his arms had grown heavy and sagged onto the mattress. The glitching was still happening, but Naegi noticed it less and less as his mind began to shut down. His mind went bit by bit, blurring his vision into one flat plane of colour as the music grew more and more distant.

There was an image.

He registered it vaguely. There was an animated girl waving at him. Mindlessly, he lifted his arm and waved back.

**Do you see?**

“Yes,” he whispered.

“ _You can only see this lovely lady right now because of the trance you’ve fallen into. This animation is being respectively flashed, and then masked by the  nonsensical image you saw earlier, interrupting the conscious processing of the animation. Producers can use these methods to elicit certain emotions in the viewer and influence their response to subsequent images. ”_

Oh. How interesting.

He learned about music. About audio and colours and patterns and lights. He was told things that seemed too high-level, too abstract or out there to be understood, but accepted them without question. His brain soaked up information until it was full, and then kept going. The narrator’s voice swam in and out of focus, his words vanishing from his consciousness less than a minute after he first heard it. All sound did, except for one thing:

 _You are going to watch_ all _of it._

And he did. He watched past the point where his eyes ached, and his head throbbed. Not that he could grasp the pain. It was all so distant, like pressure on a limb that had fallen asleep.

The on-screen narrator (black-and-white, big top hat and monocle) did a little bow, and then the screen went blue. Naegi stared as it, still as attentive as ever as drool fell from the corner of his mouth. Kamukura walked into his hazy view.

“In these circumstances, it’s a necessary precaution,” he said, switching off the TV as Naegi’s eyes began to fall close –

“Makoto! Wake up, sleepy-head.”

Naegi woke up. Tsumiki was poking his cheek, balancing a breakfast tray on the bedrail with her other hand. Pekoyama was standing nearby, on guard duty, though she was also holding a cup of tea. He could hear Kuma noisily slurping down his breakfast somewhere.

There was no sign of Kamukura.

He accepted the tray and nibbled on some toast as he looked around once more for Kamukura.

He wasn’t there.

Naegi glanced at the blank TV.

. . . Had any of that been real?

* * *

“Wh-who are you?” Naegi asked.

“My name is Munakata Kyosuke,” said the white-suited person before him. “I have embarked on a campaign to kill you and have sent several assassins to see to your end. I am the despised leader of the villainous Future Foundation, an organisation dedicated to the eradication of all that is satisfying in the world. And now, Naegi Makoto, I stand here before you.”

Munakata slid one foot back, sinking into a fighting stance. He reached and over his shoulder, as if to grip the handle of a sword sheathed there.

“Oh. Uh, nice to meet you!” Naegi said.

For a moment, nothing happened.

“I am Munakata Kyosuke,” the person said again. “I tried to kill you.”

Naegi said, “Yeah, I know he did, but you’re not _really_ Munakata. So, is this what he actually looks like?”

The Imposter sighed, lowering his arm. “Yes. His face isn’t quite this skinny, but this is an accurate representation.”

“That’s really cool! It looks so real,” Naegi said. If he hadn’t been restrained, he would have reached out to touch the Imposter’s face. “Is that make-up? I can’t even tell.”

“. . . Thank you,” the Imposter said, sounding uncomfortable.

Hearing that, Naegi changed the subject. “Uh, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but why did you decide to change your disguise?”

“I am currently Munakata Kyosuke,” the Imposter said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I am giving you the opportunity to express your anger.”

“Oh. No thank you.”

The Imposter stared at him.

“ . . . No thank you?”

“I’m not really mad at him,” Naegi said easily.

Again, the Imposter stared.

“He tried to kill you.”

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

“ . . . You are incorrigible.”

“Thank you?”

The Imposter sighed again, and completely lost his battle stance this time. Naegi eyed him curiously. He had never met the real Munakata but seeing how accurately the Imposter had been able to mimic Togami’s looks, he had no doubts that he was basically looking at a mirror of the Future Foundation’s leader. As Togami, the Imposter’s hair hadn’t been long, but he had cut it now so that not a single strand fell below his ears. Not to mention, he had bleached it so that it shone a light silver instead of blond. Something about his manner had changed, too. Before, the Imposter had radiated Togami’s air of power and the confidence born from it. As Munakata, however, he had that same air of power but it seemed calmer. Almost cold. No doubt, it was also a reflection of the real Munakata.

“Did you dress up as Munakata just so I could yell at you?” Naegi asked.

Once again, something like discomfort flickered across the Imposter’s face. “That was not the only reason. It came to my attention that my previous form may have been . . . distressing to you. If this one, too, is uncomfortable, I have a third form prepared.”

“No, it’s fine. I mean you are right that seeing you dressed like Togami bothered me a little, but it’s no big deal. If you really want to keep dressing up like him, I don’t mind.”

“Nonsense,” the Imposter said. “If it bothers you, then there is no point in keeping that form. And if this one too, bothers you, then I have no choice but to return to my other form, Mitarai Ryota.”

Naegi shrugged. “Okay. How do you do that anyways? Is it really just make-up and a wig?”

It seemed at first that the Imposter would not answer; he had turned his head away from Naegi. But then he spoke, and it was clear.

“No. It is nothing as simple as make-up and hair. Every time I prepare to adopt a new form, I first study that person’s background and features. Using that knowledge, I construct a mask that perfectly replicates my target. That is the face you see.”

“So . . . you’re wearing a mask.” Naegi tilted his head and moved about as he surveyed the mask from all angles. “I can’t even see the seam.”

“Naturally. I wouldn’t have earned my title if I could be detected that easily.”

This was cool. This was really, really cool. So cool that Naegi couldn’t help himself . . .

“Could you make me one?”

The Imposter looked him over. “If you wish to have a chance at fooling anyone, there’s only one person you can imitate –”

Naegi sagged at the shoulders. “Kuzuryu-kun, right? Because I’m short. But I’ll try it.”

The moment he said it, he looked at Pekoyama and felt bad. She didn’t outwardly display any emotion, but Naegi couldn’t imagine that she would be pleased by the idea of someone she disliked wearing Kuzuryu’s face. He almost took it back – almost – but then he realized what he was really asking for and well, he couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly give up an opportunity like this.

“Very well.”

Next thing he knew, the Imposter had grabbed his face and was running a hand over his cheekbones.

“Uh . . .”

“If I want to make a properly fitting mask, I need to understand your bone structure,” the Imposter explained. He pinched Naegi’s cheek and pulled. Maybe he was checking his skin’s elasticity?

“Okay, that makes sense,” Naegi said as the Imposter continued to poke and prod at his face. “I’m not going to have to cut my hair, am I?”

“No. The hair is included in the mask.” The Imposter twisted a strand of his own hair. “What you see here isn’t real.”

“I never would have guessed.”

The Imposter whipped out a notepad an began jotting down notes, pausing every once in a while to glance up at his subject.

“I will need to study Kuzuryu-kun’s appearance,” he said as he tucked the notepad away. “But I can probably have it finished in a couple of days.”

“That soon?” Naegi said in disbelief. “You can make mask that incredible in two days?”

“I already have all the supplies,” the Imposter said. “You forget that there are 24 hours in a day. That is plenty of time.”

Well, who was he to question the expert? About this at least. About other things, he certainly had the right.

“Why are you doing this?” Naegi asked. “I mean, I get why you would want to wear them. If I made that amazing, I would want to show it off, too. But you’re _always_ wearing it. When do you take it off?”

“What do you mean?” the Imposter asked. “Take what off?”

“Well . . . the mask,” Naegi said. He didn’t really get why the Imposter needed to him to clarify.

The tension in the room abruptly doubled.

“This mask contains my identity,” the Imposter said. “Without it, I no longer exist. Unless I am changing forms, why would I ever remove it?”

Naegi narrowed his eyes. “How does that make any sense? You don’t just disappear if you take off a mask. You become . . . well, you.”

“And that _me_ has no identity,” the Imposter scoffed. “I have no name, no face, no history –”

“Okay, stop!” Naegi rubbed his brow, feeling a headache come on. “I’m sorry, but . . . I don’t really know how I can put this any nicer, but that’s ridiculous. You must have had a family –”

“They died a long, long time ago,” the Imposter said flatly.

“But you did!” Naegi argued. “Which means you have a history and I don’t believe for a second that you don’t have a face under that.”

“. . . None of that is false,” the Imposter admitted. “But neither is it relevant. There is no one alive that knows my true self; hence, that self no longer exists. He has been lost to time –”

“No, that’s wrong! Maybe it’s true there’s nobody alive that remembers your past self, but that doesn’t matter. You’re acting like the only thing that matters is what other people think of you. That’s not how it works. Your identify shouldn’t be based on what other people know or don’t know about you; your identity is for you, and you alone.”

“Says the one who’s currently the most famous person on the planet,” the Imposter sneered.

“And I only got that way because I refused to be just a Lucky Student,” Naegi shot back. “I didn’t let that title stop me from becoming Hope, and you shouldn’t let yours stop you either. I mean, think about it. They wouldn’t call Togami-kun or Munakata the Ultimate Imposter; that belongs only to you. So, you see, even by trying to disguise your identity, you’ve still made yourself an identity!

“Don’t you want to be different?” Naegi asked. “Do you honestly want to pretend for your whole life? You have friends here, don’t you? Friends that already know you’re not who you say you are. They’re not going to kick you out just because you stopped wearing a mask. So, why bother? You keep complaining that the real you doesn’t have an identity; well, you’re passing up a perfect chance to start making one here.”

The Imposter seemed lost for words. Though he seemed to have no problems speaking when he turned to Pekoyama.

“How do you put up with this?” the Imposter demanded of the Swordswoman.

“A sword has no feelings,” she said bluntly.

“Tsk. I suppose I should ask Tsumiki-san then. Although, I now understand his appeal to Komaeda.”

Naegi scowled. He was angry, even though he didn’t really have any right to be. If the Imposter wanted to keep living this lie, then that was his business alone. There was no point in trying to  get involved.

Yet, he still wanted to.

Who was he kidding? Of course he was going to try and get involved. ( ~~It was his job~~ )

“What are you going to do now?” Naegi asked. “Put on another mask of a person I’ve never met before and somehow pretend that’s different than not wearing one at all? The only reason I had a reaction to the Togami one is because I know him. I don’t know this Mitarai you were talking about before, so it makes no difference to me whether you wear his face or hour own. Do _they_ even know who Mitarai is?”

He saw Pekoyama look up.

“The Mitarai in their class was me,” the Imposter said.

“Then, they don’t really know the real Mitarai. Which means you were disguising the fact that nobody in your class knew you by . . . being somebody that nobody in your class knew?”

The Imposter stiffened.

“I’m finished here,” he said.

Without another word, the Imposter stalked out of the infirmary. Naegi glared in that direction for half a minute, still worked up from the argument.

“Guess I’m not getting that mask,” he said as he fell backwards into his bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
> 
> Soda: Naegi! Naegi, it's Friday!  
> Naegi: Okay...?  
> Soda: Let's go blow stuff up!


	44. The End of the Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, DRV3 has been released. I am personally waiting for the English release and will be trying to avoid spoilers until then. Please no discussing the game in the comments!
> 
> On an unrelated note, I was skimming some of the earliest chapters and I had to stop and take a second look at one line where Naegi told Komaeda to stop touching him. Man, we've come a long way, haven't we?

“She shouldn’t be saying that.”

“I know.”

“It’s not true.”

“I know.”

“It’s not her fault.”

Komaeda laid back on Naegi’s bed, looking like he holding back a chuckle. “Yes, Naegi-kun. I know.”

Naegi gritted his teeth. He wanted to break something, yet his grip around the cassette player was gentle. “It’s not Asahina-san’s fault. She shouldn’t be blaming herself.”

“Yes, I know.” Komaeda patted his back. “She’s misplaced the blame. You should be very familiar with her situation though.”

Naegi looked at him. “Why would I be?”

Komaeda smiled gently. “Because you tend to blame yourself for things that aren’t your fault either. Like . . . like _that_.”

“That . . .?”

Then, he realized what Komaeda was talking about and his heart clenched.

_~~Blood and screaming and –~~ _

“Shh. Don’t think about it.” Komaeda’s hand moved from his back to brush against his cheek. “This is supposed to be a happy time.”

“Sorry.” He did his best to listen and push those thoughts out of his mind. Asahina continued to whisper in his ear, and it seemed so much easier to focus on the pain that seemed to be occurring now than one that occurred in the past. He sunk back into his pillow, closing his eyes.

A beeper went off.

“Five minutes already? And just when I had gotten myself comfortable,” Komaeda said. “How unfortunate.”

Naegi didn’t say anything. He had already pulled out the earphones and was patiently watching the still TV screen for the next segment. Komaeda raised the remote, pointed it . . . then lowered it again.

“I have an idea,” Komaeda said. “Going back and forth between these two is starting to give me a headache. So, here’s my suggestion: why don’t we play both at the same time? That way, I don’t have to get up every five minutes and we can be sure that you’re getting an equal amount of both.”

“That’s a good idea!” Naegi said quickly. The sudden cut-offs when he was listening to his friends were awfully annoying.

“Make sure you keeping watching though,” Komaeda said. “I’m not saying that I don’t trust you, but I know how easy it is to get distracted. I don’t really have a choice other than to keep asking you questions throughout.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Komaeda tipped his hand, and Naegi obediently handed over the cassette player. “Now, who do you want to listen to?”

“Kirigiri-san!”

Komaeda rolled partway over, and rooted through a small plastic bag by the side of the bed. “Kirigiri, Kirigiri . . . Ah, here’s a good one. This one’s full of some wonderful, hope-filled speeches she made for the Future Foundation. I think that would be a nice one to listen to, especially after hearing the Ultimate Swimmer say all those things about herself.”

Naegi nodded eagerly.

The smile Komaeda gave him was a mix of platonic and paternal affection. “They’re all inspired by you, you know. She even uses your catchphrases.”

“That’s nice of her,” Naegi said neutrally, trying to hide his impatience. “But most people wouldn’t realize that I said them first.”

Komaeda burst out laughing. “Oh, Naegi-kun! You’re so modest. I guess you wouldn’t know, but after you destroyed the Ultimate Despair, all those silly little resistance movements latched onto those phrases. The radio waves, the flyers, they were full of ‘ _Don’t lose Hope!’_ , _‘We refuse to despair_ ’, and ‘ _Here’s my answer_ ’. I’m sure that I even saw a ‘ _This should prove it!_ ’ somewhere. Maybe I can find some of them and show you.”

“I . . . I didn’t realize people thought that way.”

“That’s because you still don’t understand how special you are!” Komaeda rolled back over and playfully poked his cheek. “Now, let’s get this new tape in, shall we?”

As Komaeda switched the tapes, Naegi marvelled. That his hope had made such an impact that people were quoting him . . . it was such a big concept to take in. Surely, the old him never would have seen this coming; nor would have his family. To go from being such an ordinary, forgettable person to _this_ . . . it was so hard to grasp. But that was the truth. This was who he was now. He was Hope.

He looked at the TV when it turned on. It appeared to be showing another hanging.

It wasn’t long until he found a balance between the television and the cassette player. Kirigiri’s calm, soothing voice played over scenes of sentencing and executions. There was no torture in any of these clips, just quick, almost painless deaths. He could watch them with half his mind; the other half locked onto Kirigiri’s words and refused to let go. She was telling them all how their victory over despair, over Enoshima herself proved that this would be another temporary phase in human history. It was kind of odd hearing her speak, because he never would have thought Kirigiri was the type to make speeches. At the same time, he couldn’t deny she seemed awfully good at them.

“Hey, Naegi-kun!”

Soda rushed towards them. He stumbled over Kuma’s paw, and his gait became an amusing assortment of wobbling and giant steps as he fought to keep his balance. Somehow, the Mechanic stayed standing and ended up blocking the TV screen with his head.

“Naegi-kun, it’s Friday!”

“Uh . . .”

“Which means we gotta go destroy Monokumas!”

Soda didn’t have a key, but apparently, he was good at lock picking. He’d grabbed Naegi’s wrist and before either he or Komaeda realized what was going on, the handcuff fell off. ( _It was that easy?_ )  The earphones caught on the bedrail and were torn away as Soda roughly hauled Naegi out of bed. Pekoyama was on her feet immediately, but Komaeda was too slow to get to his and stop Soda from dragging Naegi off.

. . . And to be honest, it’s not like Naegi was resisting that much.

“Where are you going?” Komaeda asked, still scrambling off the bed.

“To my workshop. It’s fine, I’ll bring him back later!” Soda said that to both Komaeda and Tsumiki, who was staring at them.

Before long, he and Soda were in the workshop, Pekoyama a step behind him. It wasn’t just them present. Hanamura, Saionji, Mioda and Kuzuryu were there as well.  Pekoyama stiffened when she saw her Young Master, but Kuzuryu didn’t even glance in her direction. Naegi bit his tongue, wanting to say something but knowing he shouldn’t.

Apart from the people in the room, there was one thing worth noticing . . .

“You made the giant blender.”

“I made the giant blender,” Soda said proudly. “Now here’s the deal. We’re all gonna bet how many I can squeeze in there, and the person who’s closest gets . . . uh . . . I don’t know actually.”

“How about I make them a cheesecake?” Hanamura suggested.

“Yeah, cool! I’m starving for one of those things.”

Everybody started shouting off numbers. Strangely, although Soda built both the blender and the robots and so, should have the best estimate, he switched his guess the most. Naegi remained silent, and turned to speak with Pekoyama.

“What are you guessing?” he asked.

“You wish for advice?” she said.

“Uh, no? I just wanted to know what you were going to guess.”

“I am not participating,” she said.

“But why not?” Naegi asked.

Pekoyama looked down her nose at him. “A tool is not meant to participate in games.”

Naegi was quiet. He didn’t agree with that – about the part where she was a tool – but knew better than to argue that here in front of Kuzuryu. It looked like he was going to have to accept it –

But then a terrible idea struck him. A good idea, but still kind of terrible.

Naegi straightened up. “Pekoyama-san, as your temporary master, I order you to participate.”

Pekoyama stared at him, her eyes wide with shock and some cousin of anger. Naegi held her stare, refusing to back down.

“. . . Fifty-six,” she muttered.

Naegi grinned. “You need to say it louder. I’m pretty sure they couldn’t hear you.”

Pekoyama closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Fifty-six!”

There was silence.

“. . . I didn’t think you were smart enough to know numbers that were more than ten,” Kuzuryu finally said, dismissing Pekoyama with a turn of his head. “Hey, Naegi, you’re the last one. We’re waiting on you.”

“Oh, sorry.” He squinted at the giant blender. That was a lot of space in there. Definitely a lot of robots would be going in. But he didn’t even know where to start with guessing . . .

The door opened.

They all looked at Kamukura, who walked inside and stared at the blender. Naegi thought he could hear Kamukura’s brilliant mind working as his eyes slowly roved over the machine. Then, the longhaired teen turned to Soda and asked the fateful question:

“Is there a reason you are planning to destroy seventy-two Monokumas in a blender?”

Another silence.

“I guess seventy-two!” Naegi exclaimed.

A collective groan echoed throughout the room.

“Whatever. I didn’t want a fucking cake anyways,” Kuzuryu claimed.

“We can discuss the type of cheesecake you want afterwards,” Hanamura told Naegi. “I’d like to see the preparation of this beautiful creation first.”

For his part, Kamukura didn’t seem the least bit bothered that he had accidentally ruined their contest. Not that Naegi had expected him to express any guilt. Kamukura merely walked up to Soda and held out his hand.

“Here.” Soda dropped a key into that waiting palm. “Let me know when you get back.”

Naegi slowly turned his head. “Kamukura-kun, you’re leaving?”

“Temporarily,” Kamukura said.

“But . . .” He trailed off. His throat had tightened, making it impossible to speak or swallow. Kamukura was leaving? He couldn’t leave! He had to stay here! Naegi took a step back, glancing around the room, looking for help, though he couldn’t name whom exactly he was looking for.

“There are things I need to take care of,” Kamukura said, breaking eye contact as he turned towards the door. He strode out calmly, and Naegi felt like a piece of his sanity left with him.

“Hey, are we going to destroy some robots or not?”

“Whoo! Ibuki wants to see some sparks!”

On Soda’s order, Monokumas climbed up the ladders to the multiple diving boards that had been erected next to the blender. They swan-dove into its depths, limbs still waving even as they smashed against the reinforced glass and others fell on top of them. The others were cheering. Mioda and Soda had started up a count. And Naegi backed away, arms wrapped around himself as his hands gripped fabric. The scrubs they had given him in lieu of his regular clothes were thin, and he ached for something thicker to grab. ( ~~He wished he had his hoodie back~~ ).

“Are you in distress?” Pekoyama asked him.

Naegi shook his head. The count jumped to fifty in the background.

Pekoyama nodded and turned her gaze to the blender, no longer caring.

By the time the last one jumped into the blender, only Mioda was still counting. Apparently, Soda had managed to wear out his voice with all the shouting. Now, the blender was filled with squirming robots. Soda flashed them all a sharp-toothed grin, and then proudly marched forward to work the controls. The first button slid a lid over the top. The second . . .

They should have brought earmuffs.

The blender erupted into medley of grinding, whirring, and crunching. Sparks flew from the shredded robots, building up a yellow-red fountain by the blades as black smoke quickly filled the rest of the space. The other cheered loudly, and despite how gruesome it was, Naegi couldn’t help but watch.

Until Pekoyama grabbed his shoulder.

“Move!” she snapped. He wondered why she bothered to give the order, seeing that she was already dragging him towards the door. She stopped only to gather up Kuzuryu, too, and then herded them outside.

They stood in the hallway. Naegi wanted to ask but he noticed Kuzuryu didn’t seem to find this odd, so he didn’t.

Ten seconds later, the door slammed open and he understood.

“Run!” Soda shrieked. He was followed by the rest of his classmates, and the sound of grinding and sparking –

And then there was an explosion.

Alarms went off inside the workshop. The lights went out, and then they all heard the steady pitter-patter of falling water. Smoke rolled out of the open door, until Saionji kicked it closed.

It took a few minutes for the fire system to clear out the smoke and flames. When it was finally safe to renter, Soda opened the door. A moment later, he fell to his knees. The blender had clearly exploded; there were huge glass chunks embedded in the walls. There was a carpet of metal bits, plastic and wiring mixing with the slimy water, black with ash, from the sprinklers. Some of the machinery used to make the robots appeared to be damaged, too.

“Ack! Look at that mess. It’s . . . it’s so beautiful!” Soda sniffled loudly, and wiped a tear from his eye. “So wonderfully despairful!”

With that, the Mechanic began bawling. He was smiling and laughing even as tears poured from his eyes and he wrung his beanie in his hands. His wails reminded Naegi of a hyena. To everyone else (barring Pekoyama) though, Soda’s breakdown seemed to be like the music of the gods. They had all stepped closer until they loomed above his fallen form, eyes wide with childish glee.

Naegi tugged at Pekoyama’s sleeve. “I think we should go.”

They tiptoed away. (Well, he did. Pekoyama looked like she wanted to roll her eyes at his caution.) They almost made it, too, but then Naegi heard someone call his name and when he glanced over his shoulder, Kuzuryu was coming after them.

“Hey, I need to talk to you,” the Yakuza said.

Naegi fit a smile onto his face. “Uh, sure!”

Kuzuryu crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “Look, I get what happened in there. You wanted Peko’s guess on your side so you would have a bigger chance of winning. I get it, but be careful. You can’t go encouraging her like that.”

“Encouraging her?”

“Yeah. You can’t go and encourage her to think she’s a fucking person!” Kuzuryu said. He whirled around and stared into Pekoyama’s eyes as he spat out his next words. “Because she’s not. She’s a fucking tool that’s only as good as I say she is. She doesn’t get to have an opinion, or feelings, or any of that shit!”

Pekoyama looked at the ground. It was the only emotion she betrayed, yet it had Kuzuryu giggling like a toddler.

“You get what I’m saying, Naegi?” Kuzuryu asked. “Don’t worry, it’s pretty simple. Just treat her like a dumb dog, because she isn’t much smarter than one. She isn’t even as useful as one!”

Naegi was silent, but his clenched fists began to ache.

“Just tell me if you need any help,” Kuzuryu said. “I’ll tell you what to do. Hell, you could even ask Komaeda; just ask that lunatic how he treated the Reserve Course students.”

“No.”

Naegi spoke so quietly and yet so firmly that Kuzuryu hesitated. Perhaps Kuzuryu was uncertain whether it was Naegi he had heard speaking.

“No? The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to treat her like that.” Naegi spoke still in that soft tone, but he felt no fear as he looked the head of the Yakuza in the eye. “I’m not going to treat her like garbage.”

“Seriously, quit it with the goodie-two shoes act,” Kuzuryu said. “That’s what she is. She’s a fucking piece of trash that’s stupid enough to need a daily reminder –”

“No! I’m not going to do that!”

“Naegi –”

“She’s _my_ bodyguard right now!” Naegi snapped. “And that means I’m going to treat her how _I_ want to treat her!”

The two faced off. Naegi’s heart was pounding, his legs were starting to quiver, but he refused to back down. When Pekoyama stepped forward, presumably to say something, Naegi gave her such a fierce look that she faltered. Kuzuryu was growing red in the face. Naegi could almost hear his teeth grinding together –

The Yakuza laughed.

“Fuck, Naegi! I didn’t know your balls were so fucking big. You should have shown me this side of you when we were back in school!”

Kuzuryu’s eyes were practically gleaming. It made Naegi lean back a bit because the sudden change was _scary_.

“Fine. Treat her however the hell you like. You’re right; she’s your servant. For now.”

Naegi nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Kuzuryu was still laughing as he walked away. Naegi looked up at Pekoyama, who was watching her master’s retreating back.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Do you realize that this will make no difference?” she asked. “In time, I will return to him and everything will return to how it should be.”

“I don’t care,” Naegi said. “I don’t have to be like him. I’m going to do what’s right and someday, they will, too!”

“You’re either naïve or delusional,” she said.

“They will!” he insisted. “They’re still there, the _real_ them. I’ve seen them! I don’t understand why they’re all like this, but I know they’re all just waiting for a chance to become themselves again. And I’m not giving up until I see it happen!”

Pekoyama rubbed her forehead. She looked annoyed.

“I bet you thought me and my friends couldn’t stop Enoshima either,” he said.

That startled her. The look she gave him then was one that forgot to be irritated.

“. . . Let’s go,” she said.

They headed back to the infirmary. However, at one turn, Naegi suddenly went the other way. Pekoyama was halfway down the other hall before she realized he wasn’t following, and then she ran after him.

“Sorry!” he said as she caught up. “There’s somewhere I want to stop first!”

Really, he was surprised that she was surprised to see where he wanted to stop. He hadn’t really kept his visits to the prison a secret, and he was sure Ultimate Despair gossiped at least a little. He stepped inside, leaving Pekoyama to guard the door.

“Iwata-kun!”

His knees smacked against the cool, stone floor as he fell on them in front of his friend’s cell. Iwata had been sitting against the wall, but he moved up to the bars when he saw Naegi there.

“I’m sorry I disappeared on you,” Naegi said. “I’ve kind of been handcuffed to a bed.”

Iwata sounded like he was choking. “What? Why?”

“I tried to make a run for it,” Naegi mumbled. It hit him what he just said, and he spoke quickly. “Ah, I wasn’t trying to abandon you or anything! I just panicked and I wasn’t thinking straight and it all happened so fast –”

“Naegi-kun, stop.” Iwata raised a hand. It was such an adult thing to do, and it made Naegi feel a little better. “All I care about is getting you out of here. I wouldn’t mind if you had to leave me behind to do so.”

“I’m not going to leave you here!” Naegi said. “I’ll get you out somehow. I mean, I don’t even know where the Future Foundation is, so I need you to come with me anyways!”

“Head east from here,” Iwata said. “If you’re careful, you’ll find allies eventually.”

“But it would be easier if you came along, right? So, it would be in my own best interest to get you out. And if I figure out how to get you out, then I might as well free everyone else while I’m at it!”

Iwata sighed. “Thank you, Naegi-kun. However, please don’t give up an opportunity to escape for my sake.”

Naegi didn’t speak. He didn’t know if he could do that, and he didn’t want to lie. So, instead, he changed the subject.

“Ultimate Despair gave me a pet bear . . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:
> 
> Hanamura: Let's go make a cake!  
> Kuma!Thoughts: *Food? FOOD?*


	45. The Prize

“That sure took you a while.”

Naegi froze. Komaeda’s grey eyes were locked on him. The tone he had used hadn’t only been a curious one, but also a bit of his ‘I’m a little disappointed ~~angry~~ with you right now’ voice. Naegi licked his lips, mouth bone-dry. The presence of the exit behind him rushed to the forefront of his mind.

“Soda-kun insisted that he needed to watch him blend some Monokumas,” Pekoyama said.

Komaeda blinked, chin jerking a bit. Naegi had the feeling he had forgotten Pekoyama was there.

“Ah, yes,” the Luckster said. “You mentioned something like that some time before, didn’t you? Was there anything else?”

“I won a cake,” Naegi said.

Komaeda chuckled. “You always did have a sweet spot for plain, ol’ vanilla cakes, didn’t you?”

“Umm . . . actually it’s a cheesecake?” It wasn’t that Komaeda was wrong or anything, it was just that Naegi hadn’t expected him to know something like that in the first place. Still, they had gone to the same school. Perhaps Komaeda had overheard him asking Hanamura to make him a vanilla cake back then.

“Oh, a cake?” Tsumiki said as she approached him from the side.

“Yeah. Do you guys like cheesecake?” Naegi asked.

“Eh? M-me? I don’t mind; it’s your cake . . .”

“Regular cheesecake is my favourite,” Naegi said, “but I wouldn’t mind a different kind or anything. I don’t really like the super fancy ones, though. What about you, Pekoyama-san?”

The swordswoman seemed surprised. “I have no preference.”

“Whatever you want is fine with us,” Komaeda said. The Luckster patted the spot on the bed next to him, and Naegi walked over and sat down on the indicated spot. He watched as Komaeda took his wrist and re-cuffed him to the bed.

Ruffling Naegi’s hair, Komaeda then added, “Just make sure you don’t eat too much and get sick.”

“Got it,” he said, carefully watching Tsumiki, who had snapped to attention at the word ‘sick’.

When he looked away from Tsumiki, he saw Pekoyama staring oddly at him and Komaeda. Once she noticed she had drawn his attention, however, she looked away and returned to her regular stone-faced appearance.

“It’s not really a guess at this point, but I’m guessing you’re planning to share,” Komaeda said.

“Of course, I am!” Naegi said. “It would be rude of me not to. I don’t even deserve that cake in the first place; Kamukura-kun’s the one who should have won it.”

“It’s still very generous of you. It’s yet another example of that kindness we all love.” Cheeks a little red, Komaeda muttered, “Of course, I would love you even if you hadn’t wanted to share.”

Komaeda had reached over and flicked some hair away from Naegi's eyes when he said that. The Luckster’s eyes burned into his with an affection he couldn’t quite place. Naegi blushed, quite embarrassed as Komaeda quietly started to grin.

“I hope Hanamura-kun makes one big enough for everyone,” Naegi said, attempting to redirect the conversation. “Plus, I’ll need to check with Tanaka-kun whether Kuma should be eating any.”

“Huh?” said a voice that was neither Naegi nor Komaeda. “But this special gift is just for _you_ , Naegi-kun!”

Apparently, the Chef had followed them into the infirmary. Hanamura strutted over to the bed that housed him and Komaeda, and sprawled himself over the end so that he laid on his side, chin in his hand and supported by his elbow. It was like he was modelling for a magazine spread. And . . . did Hanamura just wink at them?

“Now, Naegi-kun, what kind of cheesecake do you dream about on those dark, lonely nights?”

Naegi laughed nervously. “It’s not something I think about often. I’m sure anything you make would be great.”

“Of course, it would be amazing,” Hanamura said, “but I’m not interested in amazing. I’m planning to ruin your taste buds for all other cheesecakes! So please, come and whisper all those secret fantasies into my ear.”

“I’m really just fine with a regular cheesecake.”

Hanamura sighed, as if he had just watched him walk straight into a glass door. “Why are all your tastes so plain? Fine. But it will be the most amazing ‘regular’ cheesecake you have ever had.”

Hanamura was just slipping off the bed when Naegi asked, “Can I help?”

Everyone stared at him like he was crazy.

“It’s not that I doubt you or anything,” Naegi said, “but I’ve barely seen any of the Ultimates at work before – at least, I can’t remember seeing any of you at work – and I bet it would be really cool! I can cook, too, but I’m not very good at it and everything I make turns out pretty bland.”

“It’s probably not enough seasoning.” Hanamura seemed to say that reflexively. “I’m not sure I would trust you with a stove, but I suppose you could help out with the preparations.”

“Sure! That sounds fun.” Naegi jumped off the bed . . . and the handcuff chain went taut and metal clawed into his wrist, nearly drawing blood. He jerked backwards, hard, head smacking against the bedframe as he fell onto his bottom. He yelped loud enough to wake Kuma.

“Naegi-kun!” Komaeda scrambled to the edge of the bed. Tsumiki was also running over and – oh, look. In that split second, she had managed to gather bandages, disinfectant, and . . . stitches? The point was that he had made enough of a commotion that even Kuma was waddling over. Funnily enough, the only person who hadn’t really reacted was Pekoyama, the one assigned to protect him.

“I’m fine,” he said. He worked himself up to his feet, ignoring his stinging wrist. “It’s my fault. I forgot about the handcuffs.”

“Oh, at least they were padded,” Tsumiki said. “They would have really hurt if they weren’t.”

She still took the key from Komaeda and undid them anyways, turning his wrist every way afterwards to check for injury. There was a small scrape on the inner part of his wrist, and she carefully disinfected it.

“Do you need any pain medication?” she asked. “Or an ice pack? I could always get you a lollipop. . .”

“It’s fine. Really,” Naegi said. “But can I please go help Hanamura-kun?”

“Umm . . .” Tsumiki looked nervous for some reason.

“Please! Can I go?”

“Not to worry. He’ll be in excellent hands,” Hanamura said.

Tsumiki and Komaeda exchanged a look.

“I’ll go with him,” Komaeda said.

“Oh, okay!” Naegi was a bit surprised – after all, Pekoyama would be accompanying him already – but he couldn’t say he was displeased. He waited patiently for Komaeda to get to his feet, and then followed him and Hanamura.

Somehow, none of them had noticed that Kuma decided to follow them. Well, Pekoyama probably had, but apparently, she hadn’t been concerned enough to warn them. So it was that when Hanamura propped open the door to his massive kitchen, they all heard strange clacking sounds. And turned just in time to realize it was Kuma’s claws smacking against the ground as he charged the entrance. There was no chance of stopping him; even if Hanamura had thought to close the door, Naegi had no doubt that Kuma would have ran right through it. The only thing they could do was leap out of the way, and Naegi failed at even that. If Pekoyama hadn’t swooped in and snatched him out of mid-air, he would have been in for a hard landing.

Naegi had expected to see Kuma raiding the cabinets when he walked inside, but he wasn’t. Instead, Kuma had gone stock-still, ears flat. He was staring at some bottle with no label.

Naegi approached him. “Kuma?”

Kuma stared at the bottle.

Pekoyama spoke. “Hanamura-kun, is there something dangerous in that bottle?”

“There’s some poison in there,” Hanamura said.

“Remove it,” Pekoyama ordered. “My Young Master asked Tanaka-kun to train the bear to detect dangerous substances.”

“Seriously?” Naegi said. “Kuma can do that? That’s so cool! Is that the first time Tanaka-kun’s trained a bear to do that?”

“I am not certain,” Pekoyama said, “but I believe so.”

“I can’t believe he’s never done it before! I mean, I bet people would love it. Imagine if the airport had a bunch of drug-sniffing bears. Everyone would be way too scared to try and smuggle anything once they saw those!”

Komaeda said, “Maybe you can talk Tanaka-kun into teaching you how to train bears and start a new trend.”

Naegi grinned. “Do you think he’d say yes?”

“How could he ever say no to someone as amazing as you?”

“I’ve packed the poison away,” Hanamura announced. “Now, about that bear . . .?”

Kuma casually stood up on his hind legs . . . and ripped off one of the cabinet’s doors. He poked his snout inside the opening for a moment, and withdrew with his teeth deep in a bag of apples.

Hanamura shrieked. Shouting, the Chef ran forward, ready to tear the bear away from his precious ingredients.

Kuma glared at him.

“. . . Please enjoy your meal,” Hanamura muttered. The Chef turned around slowly, and then teetered away from the glowering bear.

Naegi turned to Komaeda. “What time is it?”

“Two o’clock.  That’s Kuma’s lunchtime, isn’t it? No wonder he’s so hungry!”

“The bear’s lunch? Is that what Tanaka-kun was preparing in the back?” Hanamura said, rubbing his chin as he carefully avoided looking at Kuma behind him. “I thought Tanaka-kun was making his own lunch.”

“Wait, Tanaka-kun’s in the back? I’ll go get him!” Naegi said eagerly. It was probably too late for those apples, but Tanaka would get Kuma to behave and not go after anything else. Maybe Tanaka could also show him a little of what he did to make Kuma’s meal . . .

Pekoyama stuck her arm out in front of him.

“I will go,” she said shortly. She didn’t even give him a chance to answer. She just walked off, as if her word was law.

Naegi stared after her. “Oh. Uh, sure.”

“The Ultimate Swordswoman and the Ultimate Breeder? I must say, that’s not a pairing I ever imagined,” Hanamura said, eyes glinting. “Perhaps Tanaka-kun will give her a little of that meat . . .”

Naegi shrugged. “We ate lunch a couple of hours ago. I don’t think she would be hungry that soon.”

Hanamura started laughing. Naegi didn’t know why.

By the time Pekoyama returned, Naegi was busy helping Hanamura. He was mostly just handing him stuff and measuring out ingredients (and Hanamura still felt the need to double-check his work), but it was still fun. He didn’t notice when Pekoyama dropped the bucket of meat in front of Kuma (distracting him from the cookies he had also claimed for himself), but apparently Hanamura had a sixth sense for uncooked food, because the Cook stiffened and sniffed the air.

“That takes care of one hungry customer,” Hanamura said as Kuma gulped down the last morsel. “Now that you have eaten, _Kuma_ , could you please . . .?”

Kuma yawned and promptly sprawled out for a nap.

Hanamura stared. Then, he shrugged, “Well, at least he won’t get in the way.”

They continued cooking. It was messy work – only because Naegi spilt a bunch of things all over himself – but it was good work and before long, they reached the point where Naegi couldn’t do much more. He stepped back, checked on the slumbering Kuma, and then looked for his friends . . . Pekoyama was there, keeping an eye on the door, but Komaeda wasn’t. Naegi could hear cans rattling nearby, and assume that was probably from Komaeda.

He offhandedly mentioned that to Hanamura, who raised his eyebrows and looked around for the Luckster. One eyebrow still raised, he remarked, “I’m surprised he let you out of his sight. I guess having your devoted bodyguard around is enough.”

“Komaeda-kun’s not always with me,” Naegi said. “There’s plenty of times I’m out of his sight.”

Hanamura said, “Not when I’m around.”

“. . . I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to pretend,” Hanamura said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know they don’t trust me.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, they do!” Naegi protested. They had to! They were all part of Ultimate Despair, weren’t they? And if not that, they were all friends. Plus, even though Naegi knew Komaeda was a bit of a pariah when it came to his classmates, they obviously trusted him. So why wouldn’t they trust someone like Hanamura?

Hanamura sighed. “They do and don’t. Some of them were . . . offended by certain ingredients I’ve added to my dishes in the past. Nothing that was dangerous, of course! Just a little something to help them enjoy what the basic pleasantries of life have to offer.”

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Naegi said.

“Quite true,” the Chef said. “I merely wanted them to relax those ridiculous inhibitions. It’s a Chef’s job to satisfy his customer’s appetite. Why shouldn’t I try to extend my reach and feed their sexual appetites as well?”

Okay, this was a direction he had not expected the conversation to take.

“I understand the word ‘no’,” Hanamura quickly said. “A Chef always understands restrictions – you can’t make a luxurious seafood medley if the customer is allergic to the seafood! But I understand Komaeda-kun and Tsumiki-san’s hesitation. It’s difficult to exercise self-control. Sometimes we . . . sometimes . . . despair makes us do terrible things . . .”

His eyes were distant; his voice, hushed. Hanamura reached up, and rubbed his thumb over the surface of a badge clipped to his uniform.

Naegi reached out and touched the badge. “Hanamura-kun, what’s this?”

“It was from my mother. I keep it there so I remember . . . oh, the _despair_. . .!”

Hanamura’s laughter was laced with the high-pitched hysteria Naegi associated with their Despair selves.

“Mama was very kind,” Hanamura said. His eyes were still distant, and he started to rock back and forth on his heels. “I wanted to be better than her or any of the cooks she hired. I wanted to be the best chef in the world and make her proud. Every time I cooked, it was so I could see her smile. I don’t . . . I know it made me happy to see her smile once, but can’t remember what it was like to feel that kind of joy anymore . . .”

He started laughing hysterically again. “But who needs it? Despair gives me everything I need. Everything I could possibly want. I don’t need _anything_ else.”

Hanamura’s laughter rose to a fever pitch and Naegi was about to speak, but both Pekoyama and Komaeda had heard the wild laughter, and were running towards them. Any words Naegi had immediately vanished when Komaeda waved him over to his side. It was only when he noticed Komaeda’s face was tight that he grew scared himself. He instinctively half-hid behind the Luckster as Pekoyama placed herself between them and the Chef, hand on the pommel of her sword.

“We were just talking,” Naegi said to Komaeda, trying to apologize without quite understanding what he was apologizing for. “I don’t know what happened.”

Komaeda sighed; Naegi bit back a whine when he registered that it didn’t sound like Komaeda believed him.

“I’m sorry!” He cried. “I didn’t mean to do it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .”

His brain stuck on those two words until Komaeda gave him a little shake and brought him back to reality.

“It’s fine, Naegi-kun. These things happen.”

Oh, Komaeda was hugging him. Naegi tried to focus on that feeling instead of the rolling fear inside his belly.

“Why don’t you go play with Kuma while we calm Hanamura-kun down?” Komaeda said.

If he were honest, he wasn’t sure why all caution was necessary. It wasn’t the first time he had seen a despair-fit. He’d dealt with them fine before, like when he’d been alone with Mikan during hers. None of the Despairs had ever tried to hurt him while they were having a breakdown. Those memories floated through his mind, but he said nothing and obediently wandered over to where Kuma was. The bear opened one eye as Naegi sat down and leaned against his chest, laying his head down on the shoulder. The fur was thick and radiated warmth, and he had to turn his face upwards so that he didn’t feel like he was going to suffocate.

“Sorry for waking you,” Naegi said. “I think I did something wrong, again.”

Kuma stretched his neck and stuck his nose in Naegi’s hair. He licked Naegi’s cheek afterwards. In Naegi’s distressed mind, it meant ‘ _Everything will be fine._ ’

“Thank you,” he said.

Naegi snuggled deeper into Kuma’s fur, and watched Komaeda and Pekoyama deal with Hanamura. Apparently, when they said they were going to “deal with it”, they really meant they were going to stand there and let the Chef ride his fit out. Neither had gotten any closer to the Chef. It was a little hard to hear over Kuma’s breathing and the steady thump of both their heartbeats, but he didn’t think they were speaking to Hanamura either.

Eventually, the Chef calmed down – just in time to save the cheesecake.  Naegi continued to snuggle with Kuma as the Chef finished cooking, and both human and bear perked up at the sound of the Chef ringing a little bell.

“Dessert is served!”

As far as appearances went, it was a very ordinary cheesecake. Which did absolutely no justification to how indescribably delicious it tasted. It melted on his tongue, exploding in a medley of flavours that slapped him aside the head on the first morsel. The cheesecake’s taste had such a strong bite that Naegi had to take a few seconds to shake off the effects.

“It’s really good!” Naegi said through a mouthful. “It’s really, _really_ good!”

“Naturally,” the Ultimate Chef said. Although he spoke as if he heard that every day – which he probably did – he still looked pleased.

Kuma, sadly, could not have any of the cheesecake (Tanaka had informed Pekoyama that if Kuma was allowed a taste, there was no way they would be able to stop him from eating the rest), but Naegi talked Hanamura into tossing a few marshmallows to him instead. Kuma slurped them up as the four of them munched on their slice of cheesecake. Naegi eyed the remainder; there was a fair amount left, but he wasn’t sure if there would be enough for everyone.

Still, he was going to try. He put his empty plate aside, and then jogged towards the back of the kitchen.

“Naegi-kun?” Komaeda watched him, head tilted to one side

“I’m going to see if Tanaka-kun wants any!” Naegi shouted over his shoulder.

Behind him, someone choked. He broke into a run shortly before Pekoyama called his name.

Naegi rounded the corner that hid Tanaka, and approached the Breeder. Tanaka was crouched on the ground, bent over something –

“Naegi, stop!” And Pekoyama was there, on the cusp of a run herself as she reached towards him –

But Naegi had already seen what was at Tanaka’s feet.

He knew that face. He’d seen it close-up four days ago. That said, seeing the face of his would-be assassin didn’t bother him. Even the glassiness to his eyes weren’t that bad after everything else he’d seen. What bothered him was the _arm_ ; stretched out diagonally from the body, there were patches of exposed flesh with ragged edges, sometimes reaching down to the bone. And even that wasn’t what had drained the color from his face or reached inside and squeezed his heart until it burst. No, the cause of that was . . . was that . . . Tanaka had heard him and Pekoyama and turned around . . .

Blood surrounded the Breeder’s mouth.

Next thing he knew, he was sitting against a wall and Komaeda was holding his face. Quiet murmurs slipped out from between the Luckster’s lips, meant to placate. One steady hand rested on his cheek, and Naegi grabbed and held it out of instinct. Behind Komaeda, both Pekoyama and Hanamura watched them.

“Are you with us now?” Komaeda asked. “It’s alright. You don’t need to be scared.”

“He was . . . Tanaka-kun w-was eating him . . .”

“Tanaka-kun has to eat, too,” Komaeda said gently. “He was already dead, Naegi-kun. Tanaka-kun wasn’t hurting him.”

“He was . . . you’re not supposed to . . .”

“He was already dead,” Komaeda said again, a little firmer. “They would have burned the body if Tanaka-kun wasn’t using it. It would have been such a waste . . . and being useful to Ultimates is all those ordinary people are good for.”

“I want to go back. I want to go back now.”

“Okay, we’ll go back.” Komaeda helped him to his feet, and kept him close. “But you understand, don’t you? He was already dead. It’s terribly unhealthy, but otherwise, it isn’t a really big deal.”

“I want to go back. Please take me back . . .”

( _He was unable to say anything else for the entire trip back._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zatroopa, I totally took that idea from you!
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Tsumiki: Yes, I know it was upsetting. Cannibalism is very unhealthy!


	46. The Concert

The first thing he did when he got back was run over to Mikan. He launched at her, grabbing her arm and babbling at an impressively rapid pace about what he had just seen. Mikan listened solemnly. When Naegi finally talked himself out, she looked questioningly over his head at Komaeda.

“He slipped away from us,” Komaeda said.

“. . . Oh. Okay.”

Komaeda went on. “He wanted to see if Tanaka-kun wanted any of the cheesecake. Oh, I brought you some.”

“For m-me? If it’s not too much trouble, could you p-put it over there, please?”

With that out of the way, Mikan turned her attention back to Naegi. He was still attached her side, clinging to her arm and wide-eyed like someone who had just seen a manikin come to life. 

“What you saw was very upsetting, wasn’t it?” she said. Naegi looked up at her and blinked owlishly. “I understand. I keep trying tell Tanaka-kun that eating other humans is very unhealthy, but he won’t listen to me. He thinks he’s a demon and that it doesn’t count. Oh, I always worry he’s going to get really sick.”

That . . . that was it? Naegi didn’t dare say that aloud, but he sure said it in his head. He hadn’t even considered the health implications, too caught up by the fact that he’d caught Tanaka engaging in cannibalism. Yet to Tsumiki, that was all that mattered. She didn’t seem to be experiencing the swirling nausea that necessitated hanging onto her, lest his knees give way. Neither was Komaeda for that matter; nor had Hanamura appeared concerned. That could have all been explained away by them being Ultimate Despair, but Pekoyama had been there too, and she wasn’t Despair . . .

The man _was_ already dead, wasn’t he? Komaeda had said Tanaka hadn’t killed him. He’d just been making use of a body that was already there. And. . . corpses didn’t feel pain. Corpses didn’t know what was happening to them. How was it any different than carving up a chicken for dinner?

Could it be? Could it really be that . . . he was overreacting?

Mikan seemed to sense that he had calmed down. She smiled at him and rubbed his back. Naegi felt those muscles unroll under her touch, and slumped against her.

“Maybe you should take a nap,” she suggested.

Naegi shook his head. “I’m fine. I guess I was overwhelmed by everything.”

He still was, if he were honest. He was still woozy. But Mikan and Komaeda were so gentle and spoke so softly until he was steady enough to stand on his own again. He took Mikan’s hand and followed behind her as she led him towards the bed. He took a seat on the edge and waited for one of them to handcuff him.

Tsumiki and Komaeda looked at each other.

“Naegi-kun,” Komaeda said, “we were talking earlier, and we can only imagine how restless you’re getting being stuck there all the time. So, we’re going to let you run around today as long as you don’t misbehave, okay?”

He hadn’t expected this, but it was certainly something he wasn’t going to say no to!

Komaeda laughed. “Alright. Go work off some of that energy.”

The concept that he was free didn’t hit immediately. But when it did, _boy_ did it ever. Naegi suddenly wanted to run a marathon. Or climb a mountain. He could probably run all the way to the Future Foundation with all the excess energy he had right now!

(As he thought that, his eyes flicked to the exit, automatically judging the distance between it, and him and the others. Unfortunately, Pekoyama was too close to it, and though she was obliged to protect him, he couldn’t be sure how she’d react to him running away)

But if that was off the table, what should he do instead. . .?

 _Bang_.

“Ibuki was walking down the hall when she had the weirdest feeling. It was like the forces of the universe wanted her to become part of the plot at this exact second!”

With that, the Musician hollered and leapt into the room.

“Where’s the party?” There was a sparkle in Mioda’s eyes as she scanned the dreary infirmary. “Did Ibuki miss it? Oh, is Ibuki supposed to start it? Is she? Is she?”

“We weren’t planning on having a party, but there’s cheesecake!” Naegi said.

“Makoto-chan’s already got the food! Then Ibuki will supply the music.”

Out of nowhere, Ibuki whipped out her trademark electric guitar. The ambient lights seemed to dim as she did, so that she stood centered in a middle of a spotlight. Up went the hand, fingers spread and curled, ready to smash out an impressive chord. Naegi forced himself not to cover his ears, determined to listen this time. The others were not quite as subtle. Pekoyama had moved back, as had Tsumiki. Even Komaeda, despite his admiration for the talent of this classmates, wore an apprehensive smile.

The hand came down –

And somehow, nobody went deaf.

Of course, there was a rather simple reason for that. Mioda wasn’t playing the ear-splitting, demonic music he associated with her. This melody was much easier on the ears and . . . and catchy! Hold on. He recognized this song.

“Maizono-san! That’s one of Maizono-san’s songs!” he cried out in excitement.

“Uh-huh. Those are some of your favourites, right? Which means that Ibuki’s got to play them!”

It wasn’t the same. It could never be the same. Mioda’s voice was very different compared to Maizono’s, and the Idol usually sang with a group of people. But by no means did that mean that Mioda had a bad singing voice and to be honest, he would have jumped at the chance to listen to one of Maizono’s songs even if it had been _Kuma_ trying to sing. Plus, Mioda sounded happy, so how could he not be? So, Naegi cheered, if only just to burn off some energy.

They all clapped when she was finished – even Kuma slapped his paws together a couple of times. Mioda swept her arm out and gave a huge bow that was much more like her normal style. Still, Naegi could see her fingers twitching, and he knew she was dying to set off some fire geysers or something equally dramatic.

“Hah! You haven’t seen anything yet. Ibuki’s going to rock until your ears bleed!”

(He couldn’t tell if she was being literal).

“What are you going to play now?” Naegi asked.

“I dunno!” Mioda said. “Sayaka-chan has lots of songs. Ibuki doesn’t know how to choose . . .”

“Oh! I have an idea!” Tsumiki bounced in her seat, hand up like a child in school. “We can put them on a spinning wheel, like the one I use in my show. Makoto’s never had a chance to spin it.”

. . . Sure, why not? It’s not like they were using it to torture people this time.

“I’ll go get it!” Tsumiki said. She sounded incredibly excited as she ran out of the infirmary.

“Ooo, Mikan-chan’s using my idea! Ibuki’s touched.” Mioda wiped an nonexistent tear away.

“Yeah, it was a good idea,” Naegi said offhandedly, trying his best not to think about what else they had used it for. “But are we only putting Maizono’s songs on there?”

“Do you have other requests, Naegi-kun?” Komaeda asked.

“Huh? Uh, not really.  I just thought Mioda-san would want to play some of her songs.”

There was a short silence.

“. . . You want to hear Ibuki’s songs?” Mioda asked. She was looking at him like he had risen from the dead.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Naegi said. He wasn’t quite sure why they were all acting like this. “You’re doing all the work and you just played one of my favourite songs. So, it’s only fair that you should get to play one of your favourites next.”

Mioda laughed, and waved her finger in front of her place. “Nuh-uh! This is Makoto-chan’s party.”

“That’s right,” Komaeda said, pressing against his side. “This is all about you!”

“But I do want to hear Mioda-san’s songs!” Naegi said. “I promised, didn’t I?”

Mioda stared at him a little longer.

“. . . How can Ibuki say no to such an adorable fan?” the Musician gushed. “Ibuki will be back. She needs to get the big amplifiers!”

Once Mioda was safely out of earshot, he turned to Komaeda and said, “This is going to be really loud, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure it is,” Komaeda said. “The Ultimate Musician is able to reach volumes that nobody else can. Still, if it’s what you want, then I certainly can’t object.”

“Do you mean it? You really don’t mind?” Naegi asked. Komaeda’s last statement had made him realized how selfish he had been. Yes, he had promised to listen to Mioda’s music, but the rest of them hadn’t made a similar promise. Plus, Naegi had picked up that Mioda’s music wasn’t particularly well-liked among her peers. He hadn’t meant to force anyone to sit through it.

“Of course,” Komaeda said. “A chance to have a private concert by the Ultimate Musician and to celebrate with the Ultimate Hope? How could I ever refuse?”

“What about you, Pekoyama-san?” Naegi asked.

“Whatever you wish is –”

Naegi cut her off with a shake of his head. “Do _you_ care, Pekoyama-san?”

“Mioda-san’s music does not particularly bother me,” she answered. “I have seen and heard much scarier things.”

Naegi nodded. He hoped Tsumiki would return before Mioda did; he couldn’t ask the Nurse about her opinion if the Musician was in the room. But apart from that –

It hit him.

“Kuma!” He ran over to the bear, and then frantically looked between Komaeda and Pekoyama. “Animals have really strong hearing, right? If Mioda-san plays her regular music . . . Kuma, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think about how it would affect you.”

Kuma yawned.

“Pekoyama-san, could you take him to Tanaka-kun? I don’t want to damage his eardrums or anything . . .”

He saw Pekoyama grow still as the same time that memory slammed into him. Kuma grunted, sensing a change in his mood. He bowed his head, pushed his forehead into the bear’s fur and just _breathed_. It was in the past. It was done. There was nothing he could do.

“. . . I will take him to the rooftop,” Pekoyama said.

He looked up, breaking out of his vivid thoughts. Pekoyama stood over him, just watching. Kuma, of course, bared his teeth at her until Naegi calmed him down with soft words.

“Naegi,” she said, “what are you trying to accomplish with me?”

Naegi looked up at her. “Hmm?”

“What is the meaning of all this?”

“I don’t understand.”

She studied him closely. “You truly don’t, do you?”

Naegi stared at her, confused.

She sighed, knelt and clipped on Kuma’s leash. That brought her close to Naegi, and she used that chance to speak to him privately.

“Please remember that I am nothing but a tool.”

“No, you’re not,” he said reflexively. “You told me that tools don’t have opinions, and you like fluffy things.”

She was still kneeling, and her voice dropped even more in volume. “Please remember who I really answer to. It would be best if you extend your efforts elsewhere.”

He wanted to question her further, but lost the chance. For the infirmary doors had opened and Tsumiki was trying to haul in that giant wheel. He and Komaeda helped her bring it to the centre of the room, as Pekoyama left with Kuma in haul. Upon the wheel’s wedges, cardboard had been taped over the original text, and he took great joy in scribbling the names of Maizono’s songs in their place (leaving enough empty spaces for Mioda, of course!) It almost felt like he was scratching out the original purpose of the wheel, and that enough for him to banish certain memories to the back of his mind.

By the time Pekoyama returned, Mioda had brought and set up her speakers. They were at one side of the room and her audience at the other, but still, the size of them . . . This was going to be rough.

“Ready for your ears to bleed?” Mioda shouted. He was sure she didn’t mean to be intimidating but given what her music was like, he was intimidated.

Still, he had promised.

He gave her a thumbs-up. “Go for it!”

Mioda smiled so brightly at him that he momentarily forgot he was probably going to end up with a huge headache.

“Ibuki made a special song for this occasion,” she said. Her fingers zipped along the strings, teasing out a light series of notes in a small warm-up. “It was inspired by the audience’s reaction to a very special person.”

Naegi didn’t need Komaeda’s nudge or Tsumiki’s giggle to know that person was him. He grinned as he waited to hear more –

“It’s called . . . _Mommy’s Child is a Hope Delinquent!_ ”

He was very glad that his smile had been conditioned to freeze in place when he was stunned. Before he could check anyone reaction to that song title, it had begun.

 . . .

Well, it was better than Hope poems.

. . .

. . . His ears weren’t quite bleeding, but they were making a strange popping sound. On the bright side, the pure intensity of the performance appeared to have wiped away any bad thoughts the other might have had about the subject.

“Let’s all hear it for our Hope Delinquent!” Mioda screeched.

Naegi had been clapping before out of politeness, but now he hesitated. Mioda was calling him out as a Hope Delinquent. In front of Ultimate Despair. The people who, by definition, _despised_ hope –

Komaeda laughed; it was a wheezy, scattered laugh that made him sound like he was on the brink of choking.

“Our little Ultimate Hope!” he gushed. He burst into applause, joining Mioda who seemed to be cheering for the hell of it. Mikan joined in the cheering moments later and upon seeing they weren’t upset, Naegi relaxed.

Mioda followed that with another one of Maizono’s songs. Then her own creation. Then another one of Maizono’s. When the time rolled around again for one of her original songs, Mioda readied herself . . . and did nothing. Nothing but stare at him intensely. Naegi glanced around just to make sure it was him she was staring at.

“Umm. . . Am I doing something wrong?” he asked. He _may_ have spoken loudly because he felt half-deaf.

“Makoto-chan looks so cute sitting there,” Mioda said. “He looks like he’s going to bounce out of his seat and into space!”

Naegi laughed nervously, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Which is why he needs to join Ibuki’s band!” the Musician declared.

She had said that before, hadn’t she? Naegi thought back . . .

“Oh, like play the drums?”

“Yep! Ibuki left them over there.”

Naegi glanced in the direction of her pointing finger. Sure enough, by the exit, there were set of drums. He didn’t remember seeing them there before, but he was starting to learn just to go with the flow. He dragged the drums over and under Mioda’s instructions, tested out each one.

“Alright, we’re ready to rock!”

Naegi uncertainly rolled the drumstick in his hand. “Are you sure? I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Don’t worry, Makoto-chan. Just let your soul speak!”

As the first chord blasted, he shrugged and did as she said. He had been honest before; he had no idea what he was doing. But as it turned out, randomly hitting drums was still fun. And tiring. By the end, sweat was pouring down his forehead.

They were just taking a breather when the door slammed open.

“Hey! Why didn’t anyone tell me Mioda was holding a concert?” Saionji demanded. She was breathing heavily, apparently having ran over. “You’d think that your only fan has a right to know!”

“But Ibuki’s got two fans now,” the Musician said, and Naegi thought he could detect a bit of pride there. “Makoto-chan wanted to hear _my_ music.”

Saionji looked at him. “Finally! Somebody else with good taste. What’s going on here, anyways?”

“A party!” Mioda crowed. “We got music and cake and . . . Ibuki forgot to try the cake!”

There was a blur of colour as she ran over to the table holding the cheesecake.

“A party, huh?” Saionji scanned the room, frowning. “Doesn’t look like much of a party place. Did you even care?”

“It was really last minute,” Naegi said. “I didn’t even know we were having a party until it happened.”

“Whatever. I’m just here to listen to music.”

Naegi had to run over and wrestle Mioda (with some eventual help from a returning Pekoyama) to stop her from eating the entire cake. Which meant a lot of shouting and moments where he thought he hurt her, but was she just pretending. Somehow, it was even more tiring than playing the drums had been! Thus, by the time the Imposter (in his Munakata guise) walked in and Mioda had successfully been dissuaded from finishing off the cake, Naegi was lying on the floor, wiped.

The Imposter said, “Here.”

Something fell onto Naegi’s face. He peeled it off his skin and studied it.

“You made the mask,” Naegi said, surprised.

“I told you it wouldn’t take me long,” the Imposter said.

“You got a mask, Naegi-kun?”

Naegi hurriedly folded the mask, hiding its appearance from a prying Komaeda. Though it was probably too late. He just . . . he couldn’t quite read Komaeda right now. The Luckster was looking at him with that curious tilt to his head, and that small smile that could easily morph into a grin or a cold smirk.

“Put it on,” the Imposter ordered. “I want to see my handiwork in action.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Naegi said. “I mean all of your masks are amazing –”

The Imposter cleared his throat. Naegi stopped talking, glanced nervously at Komaeda and then unfolded the mask for all to see.

“Kuzuryu-kun?” Komaeda sounded puzzled, but then he started laughing. “Look, Pekoyama-san! He’s dressing up as Kuzuryu-kun.”

As expected, Pekoyama said nothing.

The mask felt like wearing a layer of plastic wrap over his face. The Imposter must have been super-hot and sweaty after wearing his for so long. It clung to his skin like a second layer, fitting perfectly into place over the protrusions and curves of his face. He could see perfectly; the mould moved and contorted perfectly with his lips when he moved them.

“How do I look?” Naegi asked nervously.

Komaeda visibly jumped when Naegi spoke. “Ah, sorry! It’s just a little weird to hear Kuzuryu-kun speaking with your voice. Another excellent job, Munakata-kun!”

“Of course,” the Imposter said. He held out his hand, and pulled Naegi to his feet when he grabbed it.

As the two stood next to each other and chatted lightly about the mask, Mioda sidled up to Saionji.

“Do you think the Future Foundation would get mad if we spammed them with pictures of those two together?” Mioda asked curiously.

Saionji smirked.

She pulled out her phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> So, just where have Owari and Nidai been?
> 
> On an unrelated note, I was reading about cave diving today, and that stuff seems ten times scarier than this story could ever be.


	47. The Classmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sleepy, so this is being posted early.
> 
> Tbh, I hate how this one turned out.

“. . . You know I love you, don’t you, Naegi-kun? I love you very, very much. It’s a shame I have no talent for poems. Maybe then I could try to describe how much you mean to me.”

Naegi mumbled incoherently. His arm flopped up a little, as if to swat away the hand stroking his hair, then fell back down; in his near-sleep state, it was the only motion he could muster.

“So perfect,” Komaeda murmured as he sat in a chair by Naegi’s bedside. “I can’t blame the Future Foundation for how badly they want to get their hands on you. They tried to sneak another person in yesterday. Such arrogance, thinking a group of elite Ultimates like this would be fooled by makeup . . . Though it was work by the Ultimate Makeup Artist, so it’s understandable they thought that disguise would be impenetrable. And who can blame them for trying? Who wouldn’t want to have someone as perfect as you?”

Naegi mumbled incoherently.

Komaeda sighed fondly, hand falling away from Naegi’s hair.

Tsumiki crept over and asked, “I-is he sleeping?”

“I think so. Are you asleep, Naegi-kun?” Komaeda asked, flicking the other’s ahoge. When Naegi didn’t make a sound, he smiled.

“So, he is asleep?”

Komaeda looked at Tsumiki curiously. The Nurse clearly was uncomfortable. She was glancing quickly from side to side, anywhere that wasn’t directly in front of her where the boys lay. Her lips were thin; her fingers were laced together and it seemed as though she was trying to hide her face behind them.

“Is something wrong?” Komaeda asked.

“H-huh?” Tsumiki’s head snapped towards him so fast that her hair fanned out in thick strings behind her. “No. I d-don’t think so, at least . . .”

Komaeda patiently gestured for her to continue.

 “I was just wondering . . . you two used to be together a lot before. A-and sometimes you would wander off and nobody knew where you two were, and . . . sometimes when you came back, Makoto would be acting strangely . . . So, I w-was wondering what you were doing when it’s just you two.”

“I see.” Komaeda’s voice was friendly, but his eyes were hard. “It’s just Hope exercises. Nothing to be concerned about.”

“But what are those?” Tsumiki asked.

“Just things to strength his hope.” Komaeda sighed again, but this time there was no positive feeling behind it. “Not that I expect someone as despair-ridden as _you_ to understand.”

She flinched backwards.

Komaeda said, “I told you guys before, just leave it up to me. _I_ understand. I’m the only one who does . . .”

“B-but . . .” She took a tiny step forward. “Can you explain it to me? I’ll . . . I’ll try to understand.”

Komaeda flicked his hand dismissively. “There’s no point. Really Tsumiki-san, I’m surprised at how presumptuous you’re being right now. I understand that you Ultimate can accomplish just about anything, but to try and place yourself on the same level as the Ultimate Hope when you have so much despair? You should be ashamed.”

She flinched again, this time taking a full step back. Yes, yes. She was ashamed. Komaeda was right. She was being arrogant and demanding and selfish and – _oh_ – no wonder everybody hated her and ignored her –

No, no. She wasn’t supposed to say those things anymore. She had promised. She couldn’t . . . she couldn’t break that promise to him.

“I-it’s not shameful,” she said quietly. “I-I just want to understand so I can help. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not shameful.”

Komaeda looked surprised.

“I want to help,” Tsumiki repeated. “So, please tell me what happens . . .”

“No.”

Tsumiki blinked. “Eh?”

“I'm not going to tell you,” Komaeda said.

“But, umm. . . “

She made a few more token efforts, but each time, Komaeda simply said no and the conversation ended there. Komaeda wasn’t even looking at her anymore, but was staring at the distant wall with an expression that screamed he wanted to be left alone. Well, not quite – she doubted he wanted _Naegi_ to leave – but he definitely wasn’t interested in speaking with her. There was nothing she could really do to make him tell her, but still . . .

“Komaeda-kun, why are so determined to keep this a secret?” she asked.

Tsumiki swallowed. He was staring at her now. It wasn’t friendly.

“I just want to make sure none of you mess anything up,” Komaeda said easily, like they were talking about the weather. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

Tsumiki shivered and looked away.

Satisfied, Komaeda turned his attention back to his charge. He pulled the blanket up higher so that it fell just above Naegi's shoulders. Carefully, he removed the headphones from the younger teen’s ears, and then placed upon the adjacent nightstand. Naegi stirred when they were gone, brow furrowed, but he was already asleep and settled down with gentle urging.

“He's still having problems with nightmares, isn’t he?” Komaeda asked.

Tsumiki looked at him sharply, surprised that he was willing to be nice again so soon. “Yes. He seems to have them almost every other day . . .”

“I thought so,” Komaeda said. He glanced at the headphones. “Hopefully, those will make things a little easier for him.”

“Wh-what’s on there?” Tsumiki asked.

“Just people talking,” Komaeda said. “People he likes. People he feels safe with. I thought that if we can make sure he's feeling safe and thinking about good things before he falls asleep, we can stop some of the nightmares and make him more comfortable.”

She walked over to the bed, and stared down at Naegi. “Do you think the nightmares are part of what made him want to run away?”

Komaeda seemed to mull over that. “They're probably a contributing factor.”

“He's sleeping more often,” Tsumiki said.

Komaeda seemed unconcerned. “He's restrained to a bed. There isn’t much else to do most of the time.”

The Luckster rose, reaching his arms up high in a stretch, rolling his shoulders afterwards so that they popped. He kept a half-lidded watch on Naegi the whole time, like a mother cat watching her kittens.

“Looking at him is making me want to take a nap,” Komaeda lamented.

“Uh, Komaeda-kun, where do you sleep?” Tsumiki asked.

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Wherever. I still don’t have a room, so I wander around with a blanket until I find somewhere that looks warm.”

“You're still . . .” Tsumiki cleared her throat, and tried to smile. “You should talk to Kuzuryu-kun. He could probably . . .”

“It's fine,” Komaeda said shortly. “I don’t need a proper room. Honestly, I prefer not having one. It helps fulfills my bad luck quota and makes sure that things . . . don’t go off-track.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Luck is a balance,” Komaeda said. “Good and bad luck always equal out in the end. If I didn’t take things into my own hands and create my own bad luck, then it could strike at any time and I wouldn’t be able to stop it. But by creating my own bad luck, I tip the scales so the only unexpected things that happen to me are from good luck!”

If anything, the Nurse looked more confused by the explanation. “You create bad luck?”

“Don’t worry about it too much. It’s not a big deal. It’s just if I drop something, I don’t try to save it or move my foot out of the way. Or if I see Nidai-kun walking in my direction and he’s not looking, I let him walk into me and knock me down.” Komaeda rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s little things like that.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Trust me, it’s fine. Why, Enoshima-san herself was the one who explained it to me!” Komaeda’s smirk wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t dark either. He hugged himself, exhaling deeply as his closed eyes faced upwards. “She figured out all by herself how I could finally control my luck cycle.”

“B-but if you planned for all that to happen to you, th-then it isn’t really bad luck, right?” Tsumiki asked.

“It’s fine –”

“I don’t think you should be doing that to yourself . . .”

“Are you seriously doubting Enoshima-san?” Komaeda snapped. Veins were starting to stick out on his forearms, and there was no telling what emotions were causing that.

“No, no! I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant, I just don’t think –”

“ _Enoshima-san_ told me to do this. Why . . . why are you questioning this?”

She hid behind her arms. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you’re right!”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them. Tsumiki had begun sniffling; she was still mumbling apologies under her breath. Komaeda was still hugging himself, but his stare was vacant.

“Umm, Komaeda-kun, Makoto doesn’t try to make his own bad luck too, does he?”

“No,” Komaeda said. His arms untwisted from around his body. “I'm certain he doesn't know that this kind of control even exists. I don't harvest bad luck in front of him, and I don’t tell him what I've been doing, either. Well, except that one time I showed . . . Ah, that’s not important.”

Tsumiki didn’t look completely convinced, but she didn’t fight him.

“I'll come back later,” Komaeda said. “There's not much use for me right now since he's sleeping.”

No sooner then he had said that, did the door open.

“We got him! We got him!” Owari howled with excitement. “Where’s Naegi? Tell ‘em we got the bastard!”

“N-no!” Tsumiki scurried over to the beaming Gymnast. “Makoto’s sleeping. You’ll have to come back later -!”

“WHO’S READY TO DELIVER JUSTICE?”

And with Nidai’s bellow, there would be no doubt what happened next.

Naegi stirred. He wriggled a bit under the covers like a blind cub in its den before opening his eyes. Blearily, he glanced at the crowd, taking a few moments for his mind to start up and fully register what was before him.

“And I just got him to sleep, too,” Komaeda muttered darkly.

Naegi half-yawned, half-spoke. “Owari-san? Nidai-kun? And . . . who’s that?”

The Coach and the Gymnast exchanged predatory smiles. While Owari stood proudly with her legs straight and chin high, Nidai had his knees bent so that he could better endure the thrashing of the one he was holding. It was a male Naegi didn’t recognize; his upper arm was held fast in Nidai’s iron grip, and his lower back was dragging on the ground.

Oh. _Oh_.

What he was seeing finally dawned on him.

“Nidai-kun!”

He leapt off the bed and a shockwave went up his legs as he landed . . . or at least, that’s what should have happened. Instead, he tried to propel himself over the rail and was immediately yanked back onto the mattress by the handcuffs. He glared at it instinctively and yanked at the chain.

“Nidai-kun, what are you doing?” he cried, still fighting his restraints. Nidai didn’t just bring along this stranger for no reason. Ultimate Despair didn’t like him speaking to strangers. Ultimate Despair _always_ had a reason. They wouldn’t . . . they wouldn’t _do_ something to this person, right? Not here. They couldn’t. This was supposed to be a safe place. They _couldn’t_ . . .

Nidai and Owari exchanged another look. Wordlessly, Owari grabbed the stranger’s other arm, and then the two of them hauled him along until they could toss him forward onto the ground at Naegi’s bed. The stranger landed hard, groaning, eyes wild and wide as he shakily rose to his hands and knees.

Owari marched forward. She grabbed the man’s chin, and yanked it up . . .

Naegi flew back into the opposite bedrail. His hands slammed over his ears as he prepared for the sound of a crack –

“Hey, Naegi! It’s fine. Come look at this guy.”

. . . It was okay? He did not listen to Owari right away, but instead looked to Komaeda and Tsumiki for reassurance. Tsumiki was staring at Owari and the stranger, looking confused, but otherwise she wasn’t reacting much. Komaeda acted about the same.

Okay, okay. He wiped his clammy hands on the blanket. If both of them were confused, then it couldn’t have been _too_ bad, right? They should have reacted if there was any ~~despair~~ violence going on, and Komaeda would have warned him if there was something indecent. And Ultimate Despair wouldn’t let him get so close to someone who was dangerous. It was okay. He could look.

He crawled over the length of the mattress. Then, arms braced against the bedrail so he could push himself back quickly if he had to, he peeked at the stranger. Male. Around his age. Messy black hair, a bit of stubble. A black eye and bloody lip, probably from his captors. Nothing that seemed important.

But then Owari spoke and everything changed.

“You recognize him, Naegi?”

His gut twisted. Recognize him? No, he didn’t, but he could read the glee in the Gymnast’s expression well enough. He was supposed to. She expected him to. He was supposed to recognize this person, but he didn’t. He . . . this was a test. He was supposed to know the answer. But he didn’t.

He looked at Komaeda again. Komaeda still looked confused. But that meant . . . then Komaeda didn’t know the answer either. And if Komaeda didn’t know the answer, then he couldn’t possibly get mad if Naegi didn’t!

With that thought in mind, Naegi’s stomach stopped churning and he was able to say, “No, I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Owari sounded crestfallen.

“No, I don’t . . .” Upon seeing how she was looking at him, he hesitated. “Uh, I’m not sure?”

“Naegi-kun . . .” Nidai walked over and stood next to Naegi. He crouched so that they were at the same level. “Take a good look, okay? Are you sure you don’t recognize him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You sure?” Nidai asked that calmly. Like this wasn’t a test. “He might not have looked the same when you last saw him.”

Naegi peered at the stranger’s face.

“Think about it,” Nidai urged. “Does anything ring a bell? Do you feel any connection deep down inside . . .?”

Naegi looked harder and tried to do as he said. He tried picturing the stranger with a hat. With longer hair. With paler skin.

 _Younger_ . . .

His eyes widened. “Motoori-kun?”

“Hah! I knew it! See, we did get the right guy.” Owari shook the guy viciously in her excitement, leaving him struggling not to fall onto his stomach.

“You know him?” Mikan asked.

“I haven’t seen him for a long time, but we went to the same middle school,” Naegi said.

“Yeah, the guy used to pick on Naegi,” Owari said.

“Well . . . okay, he did. But it wasn’t that big a deal. I’ve completely moved on –”

The words died in his throat. Owari’s words and his own answer echoed in his mind.

That was why they had hauled him here.

This was bad.

Really, really bad.

“So, what do you got to say to that, huh?” Owari demanded. She grabbed Motoori by the collar, lifting him off his knees. “Maybe you should have thought about the consequences before you started picking on squirts like him!”

“Owari-san –!”

“I think you deserve _way_ more than a few punches to the face!” Owari spat. She looked very much like a furious wildcat with her claws unsheathed.

Nidai laughed. “I get to throw a few punches too, right?”

“Owari-san!” This time, Naegi found his voice. “It’s okay! He wasn’t _really_ a bully. We just liked to joke around with each other and –”

“Nice try, Naegi-kun,” Nidai said, slapping him on the back, “but we’ve already got all the dirt on this guy.”

“Yeah, remember that time he stole your hoodie while you were in gym class; and then he tossed it on the road and it was run over by a car?”

“I didn’t mean to do that!” Motoori said. His voice was rough and scratchy, but also high with fear. “I was going to give it back, but I tripped and it flew out of my hands –”

Owari cuffed him across the back of his head, ending any argument.

Naegi shook his head. Something unpleasant was coiling within him. “I don’t remember. . .”

“What about those times he teased that Komaru chick just to get at you?” Owari said. “That got on your nerves, didn’t it?”

That coiling feeling twisted even tighter and became fear.

“H-how do you know that?” Naegi asked quietly. He fought the urge to crawl backwards and hide.

“Koizumi-san told us,” Nidai said.

“Koizumi?” Naegi repeated the name both aloud and in his mind. That . . . he was sure that he had never met a Koizumi in real life, so they must have been talking about the Koizumi from Ultimate Despair. “But I don’t even know her! How does she know?”

“Cause she and Nevermind have been cruising around your hometown interrogating everyone they see, obviously.” With that, Owari adopted a cadence that must have been meant to imitate the Princess’s speaking style. “Tell me something interesting about Naegi-kun or I’ll have my guards chop off your head!”

“That’s . . . that’s an exaggeration, right? She isn’t really saying that, is she?”

“Hell if I knew,” Owari said. “Whatever she’s doing is working though.”

He was on the verge of panic. They were hunting people. Because of him. For him. They were hurting people because of him. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be hurting people. He was meant to save them, to save everyone –

Motoori groaned as a foot drove into his stomach, and that knocked Naegi out of his funk. He couldn’t freak out now. There was someone in front of him, someone he _could_ save, and that had to be his focus.

Naegi asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because he picked on you, remember?” Owari said.

“Nobody gets to push around _our_ friends,” Nidai added, giving Naegi a friendly smile.

 “What are you going to do to him?” Naegi asked.

“Dunno,” Owari said. “We were waiting for you to tell us. You want him drawn and quartered? Hell, I’d be down! We could spin that wheel that Tsumiki has and decide with that.”

Motoori was begging by this point, but Naegi barely noticed the words. He was too busy staring at Owari, trying to read the Gymnast’s mind.

Naegi nodded slowly. “This is my choice?”

“It is,” Nidai said.

That answer was all he needed. He was no longer afraid. If it was his choice then, well, the outcome was obvious.

“Let him go,” Naegi said.

“Let him go?” Nidai repeated.

“Yes.” If Naegi had been sitting up, he would have shrugged.

“Are you sure, Naegi-kun?” Komaeda asked. He couldn’t tell whether Komaeda approved of this decision.

“Yes.”

That one word answer was like introducing a pin to a balloon. Owari and Nidai at least had obviously been expecting Naegi to opt for revenge – they had probably been looking forward to bloodshed. But Naegi had denied them. With their plans foiled, no one seemed sure what to do.

“. . . You should get him out of here,” Pekoyama said. “Naegi has made his decision clear.”

If Nidai and Owari were dogs, they would have had their tails between their legs. Slowly, the two backed away, taking Motoori with him. Nidai even gave him an apology for waking him. Naegi watched them go. His gaze lingered on the door even after it shut.

“Komaeda-kun, they’re going to let him go, right?”

“You told them to, didn’t you?” Komaeda said.

“But . . . what if they don’t listen? They will, won’t they? I told them to let him go. They have to let him go. I don’t want them to kill him!”

“I know,” Tsumiki said. She had a hand on either side on his face. “We all heard you. Owari-san and Nidai-kun know what you want.”

“But what if they don’t _listen_?” Naegi cried. “They’re going to kill him and . . . I don’t want him to die!”

He was nearly whining now, but that was the least of his worries. He yanked at the handcuffs again. He needed them _off_. He needed to chase after them and make sure they didn’t hurt him. Because that’s what Ultimate Despair did. They hurt people and that’s why . . .that’s why he needed to escape and couldn’t trust him –

“I can go,” Komaeda said suddenly.

Naegi’s mind instinctively jerked to a stop, and then jumped to a new track. One that seemed adapted for little more than listening to Komaeda and was hypersensitive to the Luckster’s emotions.

“How about I go keep an eye on them for you?” Komaeda said. “I can make sure your classmate is set free without any problems.”

“You’d do that?” Naegi said hoarsely.

“If that’s why you want, then of course I will.”

Naegi nodded. “. . . Okay.”

Komaeda smiled before he took off. When that bush of white hair vanished, his mind jumped back to its regular track and all his worries seemed to slam into him at once. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, although he felt strangely hot . . .

Mikan cleared her throat. She held out his stuffed rabbit to him.

“Y-you dropped him on the ground,” she said.

Naegi quietly took the rabbit.

Tsumiki sat on the side of the bed, and brought him into a loose hug. “Everything’s going to be okay, Makoto. Komaeda-kun’s going to make sure your friend is safe, okay?”

“But . . .”

“Oh, your hair’s all messy now,” Mikan said. “You look adorable when you have bedhead!”

That caught him off guard. He self-consciously patted his hair before remembering what he was supposed to be doing. “Owari-san . . .”

“Are you hungry?” Tsumiki asked. “You usually have a snack around now . . .”

Tsumiki kept changing the subject and Naegi . . . Naegi let her. He let her redirect the conversation. He let himself be distracted. He let her whisper comforting words that made him feel better. It would be okay. Everything would be okay.

_~~What could he do, anyways?~~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> The last Despairs finally arrive.


	48. The Class Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is so weird to refer to Sonia as Nevermind.

“. . . And then it was raining glitter everywhere, and Ibuki couldn’t see because everything was so sparkly and shiny!”

“Sorry! That was probably my fault. I just _love_ glitter,” Kuzuryu said, flicking his hand at the wrist. He spoke in a valley girl accent, to the horror of Pekoyama nearby.

“Oh, I know,” Ibuki said. “You also love flowers and cute little bunnies!”

“Yep! I love cute bunnies.” Kuzuryu scooped up a stuffed grey rabbit and cradled it. His lips were pursed in an exaggerated frown.

“Hey, Kuzuryu! Over here!” Saionji waved wildly with one hand. Her other hand was holding her cellphone, the camera of which was pointed at him. “Give me a cute face!”

Kuzuryu did. No later then when the flash went off, did all three of them burst out laughing.

“Saionji-san, are you sure about this?” Tsumiki asked. “I don’t want anyone to get in trouble . . .”

“It’s fine,” Saionji said. “What he doesn’t know won’t –”

The door slammed open.

“You guys awake? Nevermind and Koizumi are going to be here in . . .”

Kuzuryu trailed off.

Silence reigned as everyone realized there were _two_ Kuzuryus present. That said, it was easy to tell who didn’t belong; for one had red eyes and wore a fedora and suit, and the other was dressed in hospital scrubs and handcuffed to a bed.

“The fuck?” Kuzuryu, the _real_ one, said.

“. . . Sorry?” Naegi tried.

“Just . . .” Kuzuryu seemed lost for words. “Whatever. Take that shit off. You need to get dressed.”

“Sorry.” Naegi pulled off the mask and let it pool in his lap.

“You two shouldn’t be encouraging this,” Kuzuryu said to a grinning Mioda and Saionji. Then, he turned on Pekoyama, “And the fuck were you doing?”

Before Pekoyama could say anything, Naegi cut in. He lied, “I ordered her not to interfere.”

Kuzuryu looked at him. Then, with a shrug, he accepted that answer. He said, “Look, we got to get you fitted. Nevermind’s going to be here soon and we got to make sure that suit fits. Let’s go.”

He was led into Kuzuryu’s room. He had last been here not that long ago, and had been ordered to stand on a stool. There had been other people there, people who were not Pekoyama and – he still remembered the shock when he first saw them – who had _not_ been wearing Monokuma helmets. He had glimpsed people like them before, in Hanamura’s kitchen, but it had been the first time he saw them so close up. He’d tried speaking to them, but they had ignored his questions and focused on measuring him.

Today, two of them were back. Naegi waved at them, but they just looked at him and didn’t wave back.

Kuzuryu snapped his fingers. “Let’s get on with it!”

One of the two darted into Kuzuryu’s closet and pulled out a suit and white dress shirt. In a flash, they had somehow removed the top of his scrubs, replaced it with the white shirt and were pulling his arms through the suit-jacket.

It wasn’t long before he was standing in front of a mirror. The suit itself was plain black, matching the color of the pants and shiny shoes they had given him as well. His tie was striped brown and black – the same shade of black. Apparently, they loved that color. As he watched, one of the two reached around him, and did up the two buttons at the bottom.

He looked quite nice.

“Do I get a fedora, too?” he asked.

“Fuck no! Those are _mine_.”

Worth a shot.

They arrived in the entrance hall together, Pekoyama shadowing them, and Kuzuryu looking incredibly proud of his creation. Mikan squealed and clapped her hands together when she saw him. He suspected that it was only Kuzuryu’s glare that stopped her from hugging and crushing him.

“You’re certainly looking sharp,” Komaeda said.

“Of course he is,” Kuzuryu said. “He’s wearing top-of-the-line clothing, there. They could make a piece of trash look like the fucking Mona Lisa.”

Komaeda’s eyes lit up. “Is that an offer –?”

“Stay away from my clothes, you freak!”

“Shh! I think they’re here.”

Nevermind and Koizumi, huh? Though he hadn’t meet them, that wasn’t to mean he had never seen them. He had seen them on and off again in the videos he watched. Koizumi never left much of an impression; she didn’t do much other than snap photos. Nevermind, though? Nevermind often did. She never struck the killing blow herself but she still stood by and did things. He. . . he wasn’t sure what to think of this.

Less than five minutes later, a strange person walked into the hall. His uniform, in a word, was _fancy._ The fabric was a very dark navy blue, but the cuffs were gold-plated, as were the epaulettes. More gold was located on the left side of his collar, and gold ran down either side of the placket.  Silver buttons were found nearby, each dutifully polished. A blue sash ran from his left shoulder to the opposite hip, and a series of medals were attached to it.

The man bowed. In rough Japanese, he managed, “Her majesty will meet with you now.”

“Yeah, bring her in,” Kuzuryu said.

The man audibly sniffed at Kuzuryu’s less than formal choice of words. Nevertheless, he clapped his hands together and stepped aside. Two lines of soldiers – none of them as elaborately dressed as him – marched into view. Around the back of the line, Naegi could see a dark blob. It came closer, closer, until he could see that it was a litter with curtains around the back and sides. Someone was sitting in it, but before Naegi could get a good look, Nidai moved and no amount of standing on his tiptoes allowed him to see past that broad back.

The litter was set down. The elaborately-decorated man stepped forward, and a slender, pale hand rose to meet his. This was Naegi’s first true look at Princess Nevermind, and already a cold chill was sweeping down his spine.

And then Princess Nevermind stepped out of the litter and into his sight.

He couldn’t breathe. Gone were those childish images he had of evil, fairy-tale queens and sneering, sadistic rulers. Because Nevermind looked like neither of those things.

She was _beautiful_.

Once upon a time, Tanaka Gundham had arrived and sucked up all the light. Now, Naegi finally knew where it had gone, for Nevermind Sonia was radiant. Soft, blonde tresses swooped down her back and kissed the air. Starting at the waist, her pale cream dress stacked upon itself – ruffles upon ruffles. The cream fabric stretched upwards, dipping below her collarbone in a light curve, the center of which was marked by a red gem. Her crown was made of crystal, and it shone and reflected sunlight until it seemed to be sculpted from the stars themselves.

Her smile was perfect; bright and sincere with a touch of maturity and unprecedented wisdom. Her red eyes were not the scorching inferno of the others, but softer and friendlier, like a smouldering flame in a fireplace to cuddle up to. When those eyes turned on him, he was entranced. He wanted to fall to his knees and bow, but he couldn’t move.

She spoke.

“You must be Prince Naegi.”

“Y-yeah,” he said. Then, it hit him. “Prince . . .?”

“I am Queen Nevermind of the Novoselic Kingdom. I am grateful that we are finally able to meet.”

She extended her hand. Hypnotized, Naegi could do nothing but take it and shake –

A flash went off.

Nevermind was still smiling at him, but she turned her head a little to the side and asked someone else, “How was that?”

“Perfect! This is definitely front page worthy.”

A little shaken-up from the interrupted handshake, Naegi also looked to the side. There was a red-haired girl there with a large camera slung around her neck. A light dusting of freckles marked her otherwise unremarkable face and Naegi blinked, dazed, as she lifted the camera and pointed it at him again.

“Do you wish for another shot?” Nevermind asked.

“Of you two shaking hands? No, it’s okay. That last one was perfect.”

Nevermind closed her eyes and nodded. “Excellent.”

“You’re taking pictures?” Naegi asked, still with that dazed confusion.

“The citizens of Novoselic are always curious when their queen meets foreign royalty,” Nevermind said.

“They sure are!” the Ultimate Photographer, Koizumi Mahiru, said. “Trust me, once I send these shots to the media next week, you’ll be on the front page of everything!”

“R-really? But I’m not even . . . I’m not royalty or anything.”

“You’re Enoshima-san’s heir,” Nevermind said gently. “That is the closest Ultimate Despair has to royalty.”

Royalty? He shook his head a little to clear it. No. No, that was wrong. He was Hope, but he wasn’t _royalty_. That was just a branch off that insane interpretation of Enoshima being his mother.

Still, when she was smiling so kindly at him, he was reluctant to correct her in front of everyone else.

So, he said instead, “Thank you.”

Nevermind nodded, accepting his thanks. “That is a lovely suit you’re wearing. I take it that Fuyuhiko took responsibility for that?”

Naegi agreed.

“Hmm . . . I would have liked a tie that brought out his eyes better, but other than that, it’s not bad,” Koizumi said.

“You don’t like it, then you should have dressed him!” Kuzuryu snapped.

Suddenly, the two Despairs were glaring at each other. Koizumi was opening her mouth, but then Nevermind raised one hand and somehow, even though neither of them were looking at her, she managed to stop both from speaking.

“I’m sure Mahiru meant no offense,” Nevermind said. “It’s in her nature as the Ultimate Photographer to notice details that other people would not.”

“Yeah, well keep those details to yourself!” Kuzuryu said.

The Photographer pouted and said, “Fine.”

Nevermind radiated an aura of approval that seemed to smooth Koizumi’s ruffled feathers.

“Could somebody please show my people where to place these gifts?” Nevermind said. Naegi looked behind her and noticed for the first time, there were a few people hoisting boxes.

Once her question was answered, Naegi asked one of his own. “What are those gifts for?”

“For my hosts, naturally,” Nevermind said. “Some of them are for you.”

Naegi repeated that to himself quietly. Komaeda patted his shoulder and said, “We can go through them later.”

Nevermind then spoke in a language he didn’t understand (though when she was addressing the decorated officer, he was pretty sure she called him Phillip). Whatever she said, it made her people proceed into the building with their supplies, leaving their queen behind with the rest of Ultimate Despair.

 “This is pleasant,” Nevermind said. “It has been a long time since we were together like this.”

Koizumi said, “I haven’t seen some of you since . . .”

“. . . Since Hope’s Peak,” the Imposter, still dressed as Munakata, said.

A silence set over the group. Naegi couldn’t place what kind of emotion infused it, but it made him uncomfortable.

“Forgive me, but I had heard that Kamakura-kun was also present,” Nevermind said.

“He took off a few days ago,” Owari said. “Didn’t tell us why or where.”

“I see.”

Nevermind swept forward. Naegi noticed that she was patting down her dress, as if self-conscious. To his surprise, she walked past most of the others and approached Soda. The Mechanic didn’t seem that interested in the current events and as Nevermind approached, Naegi could have sworn Soda sighed.

Nevermind did a little curtsey. “Greetings, Soda-kun! You are very dashing today.”

Naegi looked over Soda’s stained jumper from head to toe. Really?

“Huh? Oh, thanks,” Soda said, sounding very disinterested.

There was nothing for a few seconds, and then Nevermind tried again. “Do you like my dress?”

Soda hardly glanced at it. “It’s nice, I guess.”

Nevermind’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “Wonderful! I was thinking of you when –”

Koizumi strode forward. She hooked her arm with Nevermind’s and dragged her in the direction her servants had gone, mumbling, “You’re hopeless, you know?”

And Nevermind waved at Soda enthusiastically and shouted, “Soda-kun, let’s talk later!”

Soda groaned and placed his face in his hands. 

* * *

Naegi stood in the doorway. Komaeda was behind him, hands on his shoulders, rubbing into his muscles with his thumb. The Luckster ducked his head, lips coming close to Naegi’s ear as he asked, “Do you like it?”

Naegi, stunned, could only speak nonsense.

Komaeda chuckled, and lightly pushed him forward. “Why don’t you take a closer look?”

Naegi stumbled forward and kept going, until he stood in the middle of the room that Kuzuryu told him would soon serve as his new bedroom. And that really was its only appropriate purpose, because it looked almost exactly like his room. Not his room from Hope’s Peak, but his bedroom from _home_. Same paint, same furniture, same almost everything. It was horrifying.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Naegi said, because they really, really didn’t.

“Anything to make you more comfortable!” Komaeda said. He stepped aside for Nidai, who was hauling in a box. Tsumiki, Owari, Soda and Mioda were behind him, all huddled around the Nurse, giggling and reading some book.  That was good and all, until Tsumiki and Mioda looked directly at him and giggled.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

Tsumiki started giggling again, but waved him forward.

As it turned out, it was a photo album.

“Apparently, you sent some photos to _those_ people before your class decided to lock yourselves up,” Soda said. “Koizumi-san found it in your room.”

“My room . . .”

“Well, what was left of it.”

He scanned the cover, taking a moment to calm his heart when he saw it was a collection of photos from Hope’s Peak. Years ago, he had chosen these photos, so it was only natural that they focused on him and his classmates – much to the dismay of Ultimate Despair. Koizumi dropped by as they opened it to the first page and she, at least, found some joy in looking over his shoulder and claiming credit for some. Naegi nodded silently and let the others talk. He was too focused on the images of the living and dead; their smiles seemed more like grimaces and their eyes pierced his soul. That said, he didn’t get much time to take in his classmates; Ultimate Despair was only interested when Class 77 made a cameo. It was generally in the background of a photo of Naegi and one of his friends, but occasionally they found one where they posed directly together.

“Were we close?” Naegi asked. “Me and any of you?”

“I don’t think so,” Nidai said. “We all liked you, but we weren’t friends like Akane and Asahina-san were.”

Naegi looked at Owari. “You and Asahina-san were friends?”

“The Swimmer girl? Oh, yeah!” the Gymnast said cheerfully. “She was a great workout partner and we got the same looks . . . we were practically sisters!”

“But I wasn’t friends with you guys? Not even Mikan?” he asked, remembering how once he had sworn to her that if they had been classmates, they would have hung out every week. In light of this recent development, what he had thought at the time to be a kind gesture suddenly felt like a cruel taunt.

“N-no,” Mikan said quietly. “We weren’t friends.”

“Well, what about me and Komaeda-kun?” he asked.

Hesitation.

“Uh, I might have been wrong about everyone liking you,” Nidai admitted.

His mouth was dry. “Komaeda-kun . . . didn’t like me?”

Komaeda groaned, as if frustrated. “You were a very different person back then. You hadn’t become Hope yet. You were an ordinary, unspectacular person and I didn’t . . .”

Someone cleared their throat.

Komaeda blinked and shook his head a little, knocking himself out of whatever memory had consumed him. There was a distinct note of panic in his face when his eyes found Naegi, and the Luckster moved so quickly he might have teleported.

“But that’s all in the past!” Komaeda said. He cradled Naegi’s face in his hands, removing one hand from Naegi’s cheek for a few seconds so he could brush back his hair. “That doesn’t mean anything now. You’re the new, improved Naegi Makoto, and you’re very, very special . . . No, you don’t need to do that!”

Komaeda swiped his thumb over his cheekbone. Naegi wasn’t sure why until he touched that spot and noticed the dampness there. When had he started tearing up?

Koizumi sighed. “Komaeda is pretty weird, but I think he’s telling the truth.”

“Yeah, I believe him,” Soda said.

One by one, the others agreed. All except Tsumiki, who crept closer instead. She laid one hand on Naegi’s shoulder, knelt so that she was eyelevel with him, and smiled brilliantly.

“We _all_ love you,” Mikan said. Then, she cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered into his ear, “Especially me.”

Somehow, Komaeda still heard. He latched onto Naegi’s arm.

“I’m his number one fan!” he said.

Tsumiki immediately latched onto the other arm. She and Komaeda stared at each other, speaking silently. Naegi stiffened, skin prickling –

Komaeda laughed. Tsumiki giggled, too. Naegi looked between the two of them. He grinned.

“Hey, look at this!”

That was Owari. She was staring at the album, looking uncomfortable. Mioda and Soda were with her, looking similarly unsettled. Naegi walked over, and looked for himself.

He said, “That’s . . . that was Nanami-san, wasn’t it?”

Owari and Nidai looked at each other.

“We should probably get rid of it before _he_ gets back,” Nidai said. There was no need to ask who _he_ was; Naegi knew exactly who was most likely to react to a picture of the Ultimate Gamer. Yet . . .

“Can I keep it?” he blurted out. “It’s my photo album, so Kamukura-kun shouldn’t be looking at it anyways.”

Nobody seemed sure how to answer.

“Kamukura-kun doesn’t really respect boundaries,” Komaeda said quietly.

“But these are my photos,” Naegi protested, “and I don’t want to toss them out. They’re the only memories I have of that time and . . . I don’t want to throw them out!”

He was aware he had started whining, but didn’t particularly care. As long as it worked. Kamukura may have a strange relationship with Nanami, but Naegi also knew that last time, Kamukura had accepted a photo of her. He didn’t want to lose this chance to acquire one of the few things the older teen might want.

“I guess it probably won’t be that big a deal,” Komaeda said.

The others still didn’t seem convinced, but when Naegi refused to budge, they relented. With that, Naegi took the photo album and tucked it away in a drawer of the desk he had been given.

“So, Naegi-kun!” Nidai said loudly in what seemed to be an attempt to cleanse the room of its awkwardness. “That’s a lot of stuffed animals you got in those boxes.”

“. . . Yeah,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to admit that most of them had actually belonged to his sister. “So, when am I moving in?”

“Soon,” Mikan said. “We want to clean up the things we grabbed from your house, first. Oh, Makoto, won’t it be exciting to finally have proper clothes again?”

“You mean I won’t be borrowing Kuzuryu-kun’s anymore?” he asked.

“You’ll still need some,” she said. “For some reason, hardly any of your socks survived . . .”

“That sounds great!” he said. He thought about the clothes he had left at home. The t-shirts, the jeans, the ugly Christmas sweaters that he and Komaru always got a matching pair of . . .

 _(He wondered if they’d ever celebrate something like that again_ ).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody once guessed that part of Sonia's despair would be proposing to Soda. Congrats, you were close! XD
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Surprise! Naegi isn't in it.


	49. The Oasis

Towa City was no natural place. It was a sleek, futuristic city where every surface shone, and the night was alight with the glow of electronic ads and multi-coloured lightshows. Bullet trains weaved their way through the city on tracks that branched off like arteries, and the buildings rose so high that it was almost impossible to see the horizon. Even the ground was not natural, for Towa City had been built on an artificial island. It was that separation from any mainland that the residents believed had spared them the devastation of the post-Tragedy world. While assaults had washed up upon Towa City’s shores, they had been lackluster and uncoordinated, allowing the defenses to rout them. Thus, the residents saw their peaceful existence as a combination of the ingenuity of the city’s founder, and their own will.

(The truth, of course, was much more sinister, shown in the legions of metallic faces lurking in the city’s bowels. But that is a story for another episode)

For two of the three visitors on the boat docked at the harbour, the history of Towa City was a mystery, leaving them with nothing but the awe that its majesty inspired. The third one wasn’t nearly as impressed – or rather, he refused to allow himself to be impressed. Instead, Togami Byakuya scoffed, pushed his glasses up his nose, and returned to his work.

“. . . Wow,” Asahina said, leaning on the ship’s rail. “I didn’t think . . . I didn’t think anywhere like here would survive.”

“It’s nice, I g-guess,” Fukawa said. “B-but it’s nothing compared to the b-beauty of _Master_.”

Asahina just gave her a look. “Seriously? Have you looked at him today? He’s all greasy and dirty.”

“As if y-you’ve never had fantasies like that,” Fukawa said. “You can’t tell me you’ve n-never imagined a hot, sw-sweaty guy at work. Completely focused on his task, but wh-when you arrive, he can’t help but look up and you can feel his lustful hunger as his cobalt eyes pin you in place –”

Asahina coughed, blushing fiercely.

“For your information, the only reason I’m . . . sweaty is that neither of you imbeciles can be trusted with this task!”

“Are you calling me stupid?” Asahina growled. Eyes ablaze, she whipped around –

Togami waved a screwdriver at her. “Are you telling me you could disassemble a live Monokuma without setting off its bomb?”

Asahina said nothing and looked away.

The Heir sniffed. “Precisely.”

“It didn’t have to be live,” Asahina muttered.

“Yes, it did,” Togami said. “The only way to take an automated Monokuma offline is to damage it, and I require an undamaged one.”

With that, Togami turned back to his work. Various tools were scattered around him, along with a few nuts and bolts and half a Monokuma ‘skull’. The Heir had his sleeves pushed back, his bangs were plastered to his forehead, and there were a few black stains on his hands. In front of him – thanks to their resident Serial Killer – was a wriggling Monokuma, bound in place by ropes, arms and legs also tied. The left half of its head was exposed, revealing a complicated array of wires and electronics.

“This really is an amazing city,” Asahina said. “I’m so bummed this is the first time I get to visit.”

“This eyesore? This dump is merely a poor man’s imitation of the private islands owned by the Togami Estate . . .”

Togami trailed off, lips thin as he stared ahead.

“. . . The islands you used to own, right?” Asahina said softly.

Togami took a deep breath. “Yes.”

They left Togami to his work. He continued to slowly disassemble the robot, consulting the open laptop next to him frequently for instructions. Asahina let her gaze wander over the city, and down to the sparkling water. It would be a nice relief from the sun if she could take a dip, she thought idly. Now wasn’t the  time, though. Technically, they were trespassers, after all.

“O-over there!” Fukawa pointed to the shore, where they could see a group of people approaching.

“Finally,” Togami said, starting to rise.

“Are you sure about this?” Asahina asked.

Togami merely smirked, lifting his chin at that confident angle they all knew so well. “The Togami and Towa families have been partners for many generations. If we wish to enter without having to hide and scurry about like rats, then I am our best bet.”

The Heir wiped his hands as clean as he could with a nearby towel, then used the backside of it to wipe his brow. He pulled his sleeves down, and then glanced at Fukawa. Fukawa lunged on top of the robot without hesitation and pressed the bear’s claws against her throat. The Monokuma immediately went still, its Naegi-implemented protocols forcing it to remain still to avoid harming the Writer.

Togami threw a blanket over the both of them.

Togami strode to the front of the boat, ready to meet their potential hosts. Asahina stayed behind and sat down next to the blanketed Fukawa. She didn’t understand all this rich people talk and politics, so if she stuck around Togami, she’d probably end up ruining everything.

The blanketed mass squirmed. “C-can you see him? Are they bowing down to his glory?”

Asahina stretched her neck a little. “Uh, sorry. I can’t really see from here.”

“Useless sw-swimmer girl!”

When Togami returned to them, he didn’t look pleased. The Heir quickly explained that while the Towa family wasn’t going to chase them off, they weren’t exactly welcome on the island either.

“Apparently, they’re afraid of others gaining the perception that they are allied with the Future Foundation. I am supposed to call his secretary if we need any supplies.” Togami’s lip curled in disgust. “Something’s rotten here.”

“What do we do now?” Asahina asked.

“We’ll have to do this the hard way. Towa City is isolated from the rest of the world both in physical and informational means, but it’s a long stretch to believe that nobody on the island would recognize you two. Please try to remember that.”

“Got it! Where’s the bag?”

Togami pointed, and Asahina scooped up the waterproof bag and hopped onto the stern’s rail.

“Wh-what do you think you’re doing?” Fukawa demanded. Togami glanced up from the Monokuma, and then did a double take when he saw where Asahina was standing.

“Well, I don’t want them to know I’m with you guys, right? So, it’s not like I can just walk off the boat.”

Togami said, “You don’t need –”

“Catch you later!”

And Asahina gracefully swan-dove into the ocean. She’d already planned this out earlier. Everyone knew the boat was on this side of the island, so they wouldn’t be expecting someone to appear on the other side of the island. Which meant the only logical decision would be to simply swim around the entire island and walk ashore on the other side!

She bet Kirigiri would be proud of her deduction! ( _She hoped Naegi would be, too_ )

It took longer than she would have liked, as she had to focus on stealth instead of speed. By the time she pulled herself ashore, her muscles had started to feel the burn, and she estimated it had been at least half an hour. But as far as she could tell, her ploy had worked. She snuck over to an outcropping of rocks that shielded her from the city, and then unzipped the bag.

She changed quickly into the dry clothes. The black wig took a while to get on, but she thought it looked okay. Then, she put on the sunhat and sunglasses.

Hah! This was the perfect disguise.

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Togami had babbled something about keeping an eye out for suspicious activities, rumours and powerful organizations. Or something. She may have started daydreaming halfway through his explanations. She was starting to regret that.

But, she thought as she pulled out her phone, she probably couldn’t go wrong with starting by taking pictures of everything! ( _Naegi would like them. He’d be so happy to learn that not everything had been destroyed_ ). Apparently, Togami had texted her a few times while she was swimming, but after scanning over the first message, she closed them and kept going. She didn’t need to be scolded just because he was jealous he hadn’t thought of her idea first.

And so, Asahina marched further into Towa City, head high and phone ready.

* * *

“. . . Idiot,” Togami hissed. “I suppose there’s nothing we can do now but wait for her to return.”

Fukawa tugged on her braid. “She could be gone for a while, M-maybe we should start thinking of ways to occupy our time . . .”

“Stop talking.”

Fukawa’s mouth snapped shut.

Pleased, Togami returned to work. He twisted the screwdriver again – once, twice – and then a screw fell loose and tumbled onto the deck. He reached out and removed the right half of the Monokuma’s ‘skull’, completely exposing the head. It took another ten minutes, but eventually, he was able to remove the last layer of protection, allowing him to access the chips and circuits underneath.

And the port in the back of its head.

Togami put the tools down and stared.

“This is it,” he said, half to himself, half to Fukawa. “We’ll find out if this works today. Either it does, or it doesn’t and we may accidentally upgrade the Monokuma AI and nullify our own immunity.”

Fukawa pressed her hands against her lips, desperately trying not to speak.

“Grab the megaphone,” Togami said. Fukawa scurried off to do his bidding, returning with the weapon clenched in her sweaty fingers. Togami checked the ropes one last time, pulled the laptop towards him, and then plugged in one end of the connection chord.

Even though it shouldn’t matter, even though this was going to happen regardless and it was a _machine_ , Togami still felt compelled to ask, “Are you ready?”

For a second there was silence. Then, the laptop screen lit up in brown and green. A small face appeared, as if he was speaking to someone through video chart. . . even though the laptop was not connected to the internet. The small face smiled, and nodded.

“I am ready,” Alter Ego said. “Please proceed.”

Togami grabbed the loose end of the chord, and plugged Alter Ego into the Monokuma.

The robot immediately went haywire. Lights lit up all along the robot’s circuits, with no defined order or reason. Its limbs were bound, but that didn’t stop it from throwing itself to the ground and rolling back and forth, coming precariously close to bashing its own ‘brain’ on the ship’s sharp edges. Togami and Fukawa couldn’t help but jump back at the sudden violence. The Heir quickly snatched up the megaphone and pointed it at the wild robot like a gun. Fukawa cowered behind him.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The Monokuma lay still.

He prodded the Monokuma with his foot. Nothing. He kicked it over onto its back. The Monokuma’s red eyes had gone blank. As had the laptop screen.

“It . . .?” Togami frowned, arms feeling heavy. Though he and Kirigiri had discussed possible outcomes, an outright failure wasn’t something they had dwelled on much. Neither had they thought much about mutual destruction. Yet, there didn’t seem to be any other way to describe this . . .

A textbox popped up on the laptop screen. Togami whipped around at the _ding_ , and burned the message there into his mind.

He turned around again just in time to see the Monokuma’s eyes light back up.

* * *

Towa City was a shelter from a storm. Yet not all its residents were glad to be there. If one were to wander to the west end of the city, they might have come across a perfectly unremarkable apartment building. They may have noticed that this perfectly unremarkable apartment building seemed to have only a few people living within, and that strange people, always the same people, would enter the building at set times. Perhaps then, if that had piqued their curiosity, they may have entered the apartment. If they had done that, then perhaps they would have made it up to the fourth floor and found a row of perfectly ordinary apartments.

It was within these perfectly ordinary apartments that Towa City’s objectors could be found. Their opinions, one must realize, made much more sense when one realized that they were ignorant to the almost complete destruction of the outside world. Phones, televisions, computers, all had been purged from the building before the current residents moved in. Their opinions made even more sense when one realized they were all hostages.

While the prisoners of this apartment building had once struggled and dreamt of escape, most had long since given up. Their captivity, while mysterious and incredibly boring, had nevertheless been fairly comfortable. Their captors only visited to deliver food, and when they considered the violence that had started to emerge in the world around the time of their capture, even the most rebellious prisoner had to grudgingly admit that things could be much worse.

Naegi Komaru had been one of these people. In fact, she had given up escaping months ago. Yet, she found that desire to escape had returned, always lingering in the background like an itch she couldn’t quite reach. Although her situation hadn’t changed, her resurging emotions wasn’t much of a surprise to her. She knew exactly what was triggering them.

Makoto may have been described as a boring, perfectly ordinary person, but that description came with perks. Her brother wasn’t the brightest, but he wasn’t stupid, either; he was kind, and fairly reliable and healthy both physically and emotionally.

The person she had spoke to on that video call had not been Makoto.

Makoto didn’t speak like that. Makoto didn’t sound like that. Makoto didn’t _look_ like that. When her brother smiled, it was supposed to be bright and happy. It wasn’t supposed to look like it had been smashed into his face and then stapled into place. He had a laugh of moderate volume that bounced up and down; his laughter wasn’t supposed to be wheezy and rough. And when her brother spoke, he was supposed to tell her not to give up. Instead, he had nearly done the opposite.

That wasn’t the worst part. What really frightened her – more than seeing Makoto look like that in the first place – was the _change_. That hadn’t been the first time she had spoken to her brother. The first time they had spoken, her brother had been secretive and frightened and emotional, but it had still been _him_. The next time, he had been . . . different. She didn’t understand what was causing him to change so quickly, what he was changing into, or _why_ they were doing this to him.

No, that wasn’t quite accurate. She didn’t know exactly why he was changing, but she had seen enough to come up with an idea of _who_ was causing it.

It had taken her a while. It wasn’t until her brother had . . . broken down and she got a good, long look at the white-haired teenager that she was able to place him. Komaeda Nagito, a member of the upper year class at her brother’s school. She didn’t know very much about him, but Naegi had once mentioned that he didn’t seem like a very kind person and a couple of his friends had said something about bullying. It was enough to get her hackles rising, especially when she considered the way Komaeda had stared at and stood too close to her brother.

Komaru had no idea what was happening. But she knew enough to know that Makoto was caught in the center of it, and it was very, very wrong.

Those thoughts swirled in her mind as she sat on the living room couch, heads in her hands and tears pushing at her eyes. She was still there when she heard the door open. And still there when she realized something:

Her captors weren’t supposed to return until the next morning.

Fear coated the back of her mouth. She leapt to her feet, eyes darting around the room, searching for a weapon. Steps were echoing through the apartment, growing closer and closer. She tried to grab a lamp, but her hands shook so much it slipped through her fingers and smashed on the ground. Unarmed, alone, all she could do was back against the wall.

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

“Wh-who are you?” she squeaked.

The shadow remained still.

Komaru swallowed, fingernails digging into her palm.

The stranger stepped forward.

“Naegi Komaru . . .”

Her heart beat even faster.

“I am not here to hurt you.”

“Y-you’re not? Then can you help me escape?”

“No,” the stranger said.

Her face fell. “No . . .? Then why are you here? Wh-what do you want from me?”

She was pressing herself against the wall again, chest heaving. Her eyes were locked on the stranger, ready to pick up the faintest hint of movement.

But there was none. The stranger seemed to stand perfectly still; he didn’t even seem to breathe. There was no movement at all until his mouth opened, and his words rolled through the room like thunder.

“Do you care about Makoto?”

She blinked. The question was so strange and unexpected that she forgot to be afraid.

“He’s my brother,” she said. “We’re family. Of course I do!”

The stranger said nothing. He watched her with a strangely appraising gaze, making her feel like he had drilled through her skull so that he could study her brain.

“Who are you?” she said.

This time, he answered.

“My name is Kamukura Izuru. Tell me. . . what are you willing to do to save him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Komaeda clarifies his school relationship with Naegi.


	50. The Princess

“It’s not true.”

“Huh?” Naegi said intelligently. He looked up at Komaeda as they walked through the halls. The white-haired teen’s face was pointed straight ahead; his eyes were steely, revealing none of the emotion underneath. Pekoyama followed silently behind them.

“What they were saying before, it’s not true.”

“Uh . . .” Naegi said. Truly, he was on a roll today.

Komaeda’s chest rose, then fell again as he huffed. Steam rose above his head, curling into nothing. “I didn’t hate you. We had . . . very different views of the world. It caused friction, but that was all.”

 _I guess that hasn’t changed much_ , he thought secretly. He glanced at Komaeda again, but the Luckster was still resolutely staring ahead. He had an urge to brush their hands together, just to remind Komaeda that even though they may see the world differently, they were friends now.

“But we weren’t friends, were we?” Naegi asked. Inside, his emotions were a jumbled mess of hurt and confusion . . . Because of course they were. That wasn’t weird. Making friends was the thing he both enjoyed and was very good at. It was only natural this failure would upset him.

Komaeda shrugged. “I don’t think it really matters. You had plenty of other friends. Everyone loved you.”

He laughed a little. “That’s probably an exaggeration.”

“Your class once tried to throw you a surprise party,” Komaeda cut in. There was something strange about his tone, almost piercing, though his expression had barely shifted. “The story goes that Togami-kun was so offended by the venue and subpar decorations, that he decided to fly you all to one of his private islands for the weekend.”

“Togami-kun likes showing off his wealth. He had probably been dying for a chance to fly us there,” Naegi said.

“. . . The heroine in Fukawa-san’s last novel had a best friend that was irritatingly happy and never left when she wanted to be alone, but gave her good advice and was there when she needed him.”

“She . . .” Now, it was Naegi’s turn to look straight ahead, although unlike Komaeda, his expression was one of stunned disbelief. “That might not have been me –”

“Ludenberg-san brought you to one of her high-stakes tournament and made you sit next to her as ‘her good luck charm’. Or was it a bad luck charm for her opponents? I don’t remember what the papers said,” Komaeda said. “And Kuzuryu-kun . . .”

That wasn’t a laugh. That was some kind of hacked-out hiss that came from deep within Komaeda’s chest, curling his lips into a sneer sharp enough to draw blood. He threw his head back, and the shadows played along his profile.

“. . . Kuzuryu-kun got his yakuza to drag you off in the middle of lunch to go to a party. He did it to get into Kirigiri-san’s head, but he still took you to a party.”

“Th-that’s not . . . that’s . . .”

Why was he stuttering? Why was his stomach suddenly flip-flopping and trying to fold itself into a ball? This topic wasn’t anything dangerous and Komaeda wasn’t acting mad, but why did it feel like there was lightning cracking between them?

“Kuzuryu-kun said he didn’t pay much attention to me in school!” he blurted out. “So that story probably wasn’t –”

“He didn’t pay you much _personal_ attention,” Komaeda said. “You were a stray dog he left food out for. Everyone loved you. You showered them with praise and admiration, and did your best to help them and spread hope and they loved _you_ . . .”

Komaeda stopped walking. His hands were clenched into fists at his side. A beam of light fell through a nearby window and passed by his body, making his eyes flare with white light. Naegi wanted to back away, but it felt too much like revealing weakness to a predator.

“When _you_ praised them, they took it as a compliment. When _you_ offered to help, they were only too happy to accept and shower you with thanks. When _you_ wanted to be around them, they _smiled_. They just couldn’t get enough of Naegi Makoto.”

Light flashed off Komaeda’s smile. Was that even a smile? He didn’t think any normal person would call a strained expression like that _happy_.

“I’m sorry,” he said meekly. “I’m sorry we weren’t ever friends, and . . . and I’m sorry everyone liked and me a-and . . .”

( _It wasn’t something he should apologize for, but he felt small and weak and wretched and he wanted dearly for Komaeda to stop staring at him like that._ )

“Stop.”

Naegi’s mouth snapped shut of its own accord.

Komaeda dragged a hand over his face, letting it linger when the tips of his fingers covered his eyes. He took a deep breath, evidently to compose himself. His hands didn’t slide down his face; rather, he turned his face upward and let his arms fall once his fingers rested on his lower jaw. His shoulders rose and fell with another breath. Then, he turned and looked at Naegi with a calm smile.

“It’s okay,” Komaeda said. “Everyone loves Naegi Makoto, and Naegi Makoto loves _everyone_. I know that. That’s . . .”

Naegi waited patiently for Komaeda to continue, but it appeared the Luckster had other plans.

“Are you mad that we weren’t friends in high school?” Naegi asked quietly.

That calm smile grew.

“No. I’m not mad. Come on,” Komaeda reached over flicked a piece of dust off Naegi’s shoulder.

There was a sudden cough behind them.

“The Queen of Novoselic is waiting,” Pekoyama reminded them. “She will be wondering where you two are.”

“Yes. Thank you, Pekoyama-san,” Komaeda said.

Komaeda started walking again, and Naegi moved quickly so he wouldn’t be left behind.

“I really am sorry,” Naegi said, unable to help himself.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” Komaeda said. “Even if we had gotten along better, I wasn’t allowed to be friends with you.”

“Why not?”

“Hmm? Ah, yes, you wouldn’t know. It’s nothing spectacular. Your friends ordered me to stay away from you,” Komaeda said.

Naegi stopped walking. Komaeda didn’t notice and kept going.

“Why would they do that?” Naegi demanded.

Komaeda rolled his eyes. “Enoshima-san convinced them I was bad for your self-esteem or something. I guess she knew even back then how special you were.”

 A cold horror overtook him.

“En-enoshima?”

“Yes?” he said, as if he had no idea why that bothered Naegi so. Maybe he sincerely didn’t.

Then that meant Naegi was alone to grapple with this piece of information. Had it been anyone, anyone else, Naegi could have accepted it. To hear it was _Enoshima_? That was an entirely different story. He didn’t trust her – who could after everything? He possessed no memory of how Enoshima had acted while they had been in school together, but if her sister’s acting had been any indication, then Enoshima’s entire personality was layers of deceit. He did not trust this reason Komaeda gave for her interference. So the question was what had been Enoshima’s true intention?

“Did she do that with anyone else?” he asked, chewing on his lower lip.

“Not that I’m aware of. Probably not,” Komaeda said. “Nobody else was worthless enough to taint the presence of you Ultimates, after all. Even though you weren’t even one of them.”

But why? As badly as he wanted to know, he supposed he may never obtain an answer.

“Ah, here we are!” Komaeda knocked on the waiting door, then turned to Naegi. “Are you ready?”

“Ready? I thought we were just having tea!”

Komaeda chuckled. “Always so naïve . . . There’s a reason you’re wearing that suit!”

The door opened.

“Her highness is ready for you,” said the officer, Phillip, that had introduced her before. Over Naegi’s shoulder, he locked eyes with Pekoyama and the two assessed each other.

Komaeda gave Naegi a little nod. Naegi took a breath, set his jaw, and walked inside with Pekoyama.

It was the first personal room he had seen with more then one room; even Kuzuryu’s bedroom and ‘living room’ had been one and the same. But the room he walked into now was clearly a dining room, and there was a door in the back that must have led to the true bedroom. The table inside was Japanese-style, low to the ground, and Nevermind was kneeling at one end of the table. She held a steaming teacup to her lips, but put it down when she saw him.

“Welcome, my Prince,” she said.

“Uh, thanks,” he said as he took his place at the other end. Pekoyama stood a respectful distance behind him. “Could you just call me Naegi? The Prince thing is a little strange.”

“Very well. Then please call me Sonia.”

“That’s your . . .”

“I understand it is customary to refer to each other by surnames. In my country, however, we speak each other’s given names. It is always strange to suddenly have everyone referring to me as Nevermind.”

“Oh, then you can call me Makoto! I don’t mind,” he said brightly. He smiled –

A camera flashed.

“Perfect!” Koizumi said. “You two just keep doing what you’re doing. This is great!”

“Oh, sure. You know, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced either.” He stood and walked over to her for a handshake. “I’m Naegi Makoto, Ultimate Hope.”

“Koizumi Mahiru, Ultimate Photographer.” Her handshake was firm. Very, very firm. It might have given him bruises. “I’ve been waiting for a long time to get you two in a setting like this. Just pretend I’m not here!”

“Why me?” he asked.

“Why? Because you’re the hottest topic out there right now! Well, you’re going to be soon.”

“Soon?” Instinctively, he looked around for confirmation, but neither Komaeda, Tsumiki nor Kamukura were present and Pekoyama didn’t offer much comfort. It made him feel lonely.

Nevermind saw his wandering eyes and said, “The people of Novoselic have always been trend setters, and they are very keen to learn more about you. Please, come sit.”

He did. He asked Koizumi and Pekoyama afterwards if they would be sitting, too.

“In a bit. I need to grab some more photos first,” Koizumi said.

Pekoyama shook her head. He pouted at her.

“Please?” he said.

She did give in. Carefully. When she moved forwards, she did so carefully. She lowered herself onto the cushion on the left side of the table next to Naegi. She did not smile when he beamed at her.

“How do you like your tea?” Nevermind asked.

“With sugar,” he said.

“I do have sugar,” she said, “but I also have honey. Would you prefer that?”

“I’ve never had honey with my tea before, but I’m willing to try!”

Nevermind smiled, then clapped. It was strange, but Naegi assumed it was permission to him to serve himself . . .

Only he was cut off when a black-suited butler stepped forward. With precise, yet elegant movements, he poured Naegi his tea and added an appropriate amount of honey. He handed it to Naegi with a slight bow and although he was surprised at his treatment, Naegi took it with a small thanks.

“Pekoyama-san? What about you?”

Pekoyama hesitated. “. . . Just black.”

The butler poured her some tea too, and retreated back out of their way. Naegi looked forward again to see Nevermind giving him a curious look, a finger on her chin.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said. “I was merely . . . surprised. Forgive me, but when did Pekoyama-san come under your service?”

“There was a near miss with an assassin,” Pekoyama said. “The Young Master thought my talents would be of better use to him for the time being.”

“I see. Does this have something to do with the planes?”

“The what?” Naegi asked.

Nevermind said, “Fuyuhiko told me that the Future Foundation is making use of a nearby field to hide some bombers. They are hoping to launch them and strike before we have a chance to react. Our mole warned him ahead of time though, so Soda-kun laced the field with mines before the bombers arrived. I expect they will be going off anytime now.”

“That’s . . .”

“It’s brilliant, isn’t it?” Nevermind’s laughter was a beautiful thing to listen to, high-pitched and melodic like birdsong. (A camera flash went off) “Soda-kun is so amazing.”

Her eyes were starry. She was giggling to herself the way a fan would upon meeting their idol.

“He’s really good at what he does!” Naegi said. “He told me about the time he built a battle-bot for Nidai to train against, and he said he personally designed and built the security here and his workshop and . . . and the Monokumas,” he added, considerably less cheerfully.

“Yes, no job is too big for the incredible Soda-kun!” Nevermind announced. Koizumi sighed. The Photographer was on one knee behind Nevermind’s shoulder, pointing the camera at him and Pekoyama.

“Hey, Pekoyama-san,” she said afterwards. “Could you go stand over there next to Phillip? I want to get a side-by-side shot of the two of you.”

To Naegi’s surprise, Pekoyama didn’t move. Then, he realized she was waiting for his instruction. He gave her a lopsided smile and said, “Do it if you want to.”

She hesitated, then scurried over for the shot. She immediately returned to her seat afterwards.

“Mahiru, please join us,” Nevermind said. “The tea is growing cold and there will be plenty of opportunities for photos later.”

“Alright.” Koizumi took a seat to Nevermind’s right. The butler approached without asking, and prepared her tea without needing to ask what to add.

“You’re the Ultimate Photographer,” Naegi said.

“Yep.” She took a sip. “It’s nothing as exciting as the Ultimate Princess, but I get by.”

“Koizumi-san has always been humble,” Nevermind said fondly.

Even that amount of praise apparently was enough to turn Koizumi’s cheeks red. “Well, I mean it’s just photography. It’s not that amazing.”

“I think it is!” Naegi said. “I mean there are plenty of photographs that have changed the world, and you’re probably at least as good, if not better than all of those photographers!”

Koizumi’s blush deepened. She was refusing to look directly at anyone. “Okay, that’s true, but . . .”

“But nothing!” Nevermind said. “Yours is a remarkable talent.”

“I agree,” Pekoyama said. Naegi grinned at her, almost feeling like a proud parent. He turned back to Nevermind just in time to see that particular look fade from her expression again.

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

Koizumi sounded grumpy when she said that, but all Nevermind had to do was smile at her, and then a small smile was on the Photographer’s lips as well. The friendly candour between the two both did and didn’t surprise him. It surprised him because, well, they were Ultimate Despair. But he had also seen friendships between the other Despairs, like Owari and Nidai, or Mioda and Saionji.

“So, what’s your story anyways? How did they wind up with you?” Koizumi asked. “Kuzuryu isn’t exactly the guy to explain things in depth and Komaeda tried, but he’s . . . Komaeda.”

“I . . . uh . . . good question?” He looked at Pekoyama for help, but remembered too late that she wasn’t part of Despair and probably didn’t really get it either. Gosh, he needed Komaeda or Tsumiki right now.

Still, he did his best to explain. At least he tried to explain the parts he thought he understood. It involved lots of fumbling and backtracking and awkward pauses. Then, when he finally finished . . .

“Sorry, but I still don’t understand,” Koizumi said.

“I must admit that I do not either,” Nevermind said. “Nevertheless, I’m sure Kuzuryu-kun knows what he is doing, so I have no objections.”

“You can object?” Naegi asked carefully.

“Ah, yes.” She set the teacup down. “You have been under Kuzuryu’s protection during your time here, so you would not know. With the . . . departure of our queen, Kuzuryu-kun and I currently sit upon the throne of Ultimate Despair.”

“The king and queen,” he muttered.

“Not quite,” she said. “Even in death, Enoshima-san holds the title of queen. For Ultimate Despair, I will never be more than their Ultimate Princess. Kuzuryu-kun is not a king either. He is a regent, _Prince_ Makoto.”

He cringed at the title. “I’m not . . . Really, I’m not.”

“I understand your reluctance,” she said kindly. “You are still very new to this world, and the idea of ruling is a daunting one. It is an intense, gruelling ordeal where every decision has consequences for tens of thousands of years into the future!”

If that was meant to be a pep talk, it really wasn’t working. Plus, the way Nevermind struck a strongman pose and flexed her arm made him just feel weak.

“But do not fear, Makoto. You will not be alone. Even the arduous life of royalty becomes much easier when you have friends to stand with you.”

She placed her hand on Koizumi’s shoulder as she said that and once again, the two girls exchanged a look and smile. ( _Something inside him panged with envy_ ).

“Do you rule Novoselic by yourself?” he asked.

“Yes. I am Ultimate Despair’s princess, but I am the queen of Novoselic.” She sighed, and her index finger tapped on the table. “. . . Soda-kun is not attracted to the life of royalty.”

“You really like him, huh?”

Koizumi laughed into her teacup. “Ever since Despair, she has.”

Ever since Despair . . . ? That didn’t seem right. He could sense there was something underneath, some undercurrent Koizumi had tried to expose, but he didn’t get it.

“It is hard to rule alone,” Nevermind said. “However, the situation has gotten much easier to manage now that much of the rebel movements have fallen.”

Just like that, Naegi’s world tipped upside down.

Nothing had changed. Nevermind still wore that kind smile, as did Koizumi, but now Naegi saw them somewhere else. He saw them on a wooden platform, shielded by guards as a prisoner was led up the stairs to the noose. He saw Nevermind handling a red-hot iron, smiling just as she did now; saw Koizumi capture every moment of it with her camera.

They were Despair. He had forgotten what that meant, but now he remembered.

“Why?” he rasped. “Why would you . . .?”

“They were a threat. None shall harm Novoselic while I rule.” A slight frown touched her lips. “That’s why . . . that’s why it had to be done. For generations, the royal family has fended off the influence and threats of great power such as Germany and Russia. That is why Hope’s Peak chose me as the Ultimate Princess, but even that was yet another attempt by the outside to claim power that belonged to my family. She . . . _she_ helped me see that. _She_ helped me see that it would never end. _She_ helped me realize that the only way to protect Novoselic from other countries was . . . to dismantle the threats at their source.”

“You destroyed the world.”

“Yes,” Nevermind said, “and now there are no countries to threaten Novoselic’s sovereignty. Just these silly rebels.”

“That’s . . . that’s not right . . .”

“Someday, you’ll understand,” Nevermind said.

Naegi fell silent. He couldn’t possibly speak past the lump in his throat. He stared downward at the quivering reflection in his teacup.

A hand squeezed his leg.

He looked up sharply, but Pekoyama kept her eyes trained on Nevermind. Even when she withdrew her hand, she gave neither Nevermind nor Koizumi any physical sign of what had happened.

He swallowed. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was time to change the subject . . .

“If you and Kuzuryu-kun are the metaphorical king and queen of Ultimate Despair, does that mean you’re basically married?” he blurted out.

Pekoyama choked.

Somehow, he managed to keep the conversation off anything troubling. Time passed, Koizumi made them pose for some photos, and then there was a knock on the door. Phillip opened it a crack, and spoke in a different language to Nevermind, but when Naegi heard the name ‘Komaeda’, he knew what it was about.

“I guess we’re going now,” he said.

“Indeed. I enjoyed speaking to you,” Nevermind said. She extended her hand for a shake, and Naegi took it. He shrugged off the chill that came from the contact.

“We should talk again some other time,” Koizumi said. “It would be nice to know somebody else who isn’t . . . eccentric, I guess.”

Nevermind said, “Pekoyama-san, it’s . . .”

Once again, Nevermind gave the Swordswoman that particular stare.

“ . . . I am glad to hear you speaking again,” Nevermind said, to Naegi’s confusion.

By the time he walked out of her room and back into Komaeda’s care, he still didn’t understand.

But he did notice Pekoyama wouldn’t look at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something weird is happening where A03 keeps randomly italicizing sections of the chapter.
> 
> Next chapter:  
> Kuzuryu tries his hand at explanations, but only ends up raising more questions than he answers.


	51. The Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll be interesting to see the reception to this chapter. There are quite a few hints and strange things revealed. Maybe enough to finally figure out a few pieces of the prevailing mysteries.

They never made it back to the infirmary. Komaeda was leading them there when a shrill bell, like a fire alarm, rang through the building. Ahead of them, a Monokuma soldier broke out into a sprint, destination unknown. They could hear footsteps thundering through the building as others followed suit, leaving Naegi to turn his head wildly from side to side in a vain attempt to discern what was happening.

“This way!” Pekoyama grabbed his arm, and hauled him in the direction opposite to where they had been going, leaving Komaeda to jog behind them.

“What going on?” he asked. He wasn’t freaking out yet because Komaeda and Pekoyama were with him, and Pekoyama at least knew what to do. Still, there was a fluttering feeling inside him, like his ribs were a cage containing a panicked bird.

“Sounds like an air raid,” Komaeda said.

Naegi repeated those words. Still pulling him along, Pekoyama looked down at him and said, “Remember what Nevermind-san said about the planes?”

“But I thought Soda-kun blew them up!” he said.

“Not yet,” Pekoyama said. “If these alarms are going off now, he plans to set off the bombs in ten minutes. It is possible that some will survive, and they will attack in retaliation.”

“So, we’re going to a bomb shelter.”

“Yes.”

They ended up in an garden, boxed in on all sides by walls, that seemed to lie in the center of the building. (It occurred to him that he had no idea what the building he’d lived in for months looked like from the outside). There was a thick, heavy-looking hatch in the center; Pekoyama lifted it without a sweat, and waved him and Komaeda inside.

They descended into the dark. Dim, red lights lined the staircase, and Naegi had to keep an eye on his feet to make sure he didn’t trip. Which he still managed to do, but Pekoyama snagged his shirt from behind and saved him. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a pair – two of them, it turned – of thick, metal doors, both of which were already open. They walked through.

He’d expected that Ultimate Despair’s bomb shelter would be more than a simple dirt cellar. That being said, what he saw before him was hilariously fancy. Thick bundles of cords ran along the walls and ceiling; among other things, they fed lights that worked just as well as the ones inside the main building. There was a bar in the back, though how stocked it was, Naegi couldn’t tell.  Big, puffy couches (was that velvet?) provided plenty of space for a nervous Despair to huddle up and wait out the bombing. Not that anyone seemed nervous. Not everyone was present, but those who were acted as those this was an everyday occurrence. Nidai was listening politely as Owari ranted loudly about something. Mioda appeared to be setting up a pool table while the Imposter, still dressed as Munakata, threateningly sharpened a pool cue behind her. Tsumiki –

“Makoto!”

Ah, he should have expected this.

She flung herself at him, knocking them both into Komaeda, who despite squawking and stumbling backwards, managed to catch them. Naegi stood there, resigned, as she crushed his ribs.

“Try not to be too scared,” she said. “There’s lots of fun things we can do down here. L-like pool, or darts or bowling . . . but not with cannons.”

“How long did Soda-kun spend on this place?” Naegi asked.

Komaeda laughed. “He’s down here every Sunday. He likes to think of it as his man-cave.”

Naegi nodded, pleased to hear that Soda worked on things other than murderous, robotic bear. Pekoyama hadn’t said anything yet, so he looked at her . . . and immediately saw her arms stiff at her sides, and her face a touch paler than usual. There was no need to wonder why.

He laid his hand on her arm to grab her attention. “He’s fine. Kuzuryu-kun must know what the siren means. I bet he’s just giving some last orders before he takes shelter, or he’s waiting with Soda-kun until he decides to set off the bombs. I mean, he’s basically the leader, so it’s only natural he would want to be with Soda-kun to make sure everything’s perfect.”

She relaxed. “That is something he would do.”

Komaeda patted his back. He wasn’t sure why.

“I have a question though,” Naegi said. “Isn’t Soda-kun just the Ultimate Mechanic? Building this seems outside of his talent.”

“It is,” Komaeda said. “Kuzuryu-kun solicited help from the Ultimate Architect and Builder!”

“Solicited . . .?” Naegi said skeptically. A peek at a grimacing Pekoyama confirmed his suspicions. He looked around again and . . .

“Wait, where’s Kuma? He’s coming too, right?” He grabbed Komaeda’s shirt. “Kuma allowed down here too, right?”

“Hey, easy . . .” Komaeda removed Naegi’s hands from his chest. “Tanaka-kun’s grabbing him.”

Naegi bit his lip, and nodded.

Nevermind and Koizumi walked in a couple of minutes later, along with that officer, Phillip. The two girls were chatting, and Phillip walked ahead of them to the bar where he began pouring drinks. That left Tanaka, Kuma, Soda and Kuzuryu as the absent ones. He looked at Pekoyama, worried. However, the Swordswoman no longer appeared troubled; Naegi’s earlier suggestion appeared to have stuck with her.

A minute later, Tanaka led Kuma into the shelter (the poor bear looked hot; it had probably been hard for him to navigate those stairs, and squeeze through that space). This time, it was Naegi’s turn to fling himself at another. Kuma barely noticed the impact until Naegi slid down his side and landed on one of his paws.

Three or fours minutes later, the boys finally arrived, laughing as they spoke to each other. The two separated quickly after, Soda heading for the pool table, and Kuzuryu coming towards them.

“Naegi! Let’s talk.”

Kuzuryu gestured for him to follow. The Yakuza plopped down on one of the oversized couches, and Naegi took a seat next to him while Kuma sniffed around in the direction of the bar. Tsumiki and Komaeda sat down on the couch, too.

Kuzuryu gave the two a weird look, but otherwise didn’t react. “So, we’re going to move you into your own room in a couple of days.”

“Oh, that’s great! Uh, what about the handcuffs?”

“Those? I think you’re ready to get them off,” Kuzuryu said.

He had been hoping for that answer, but he hadn’t dared considered it seriously. But now that the magic words had been said, his whole body sagged with relief, and a warm wave of joy swept over him. He grabbed Kuzuryu’s hand and shook it, thanking the other teen profusely.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” the Yakuza yanked his hand out of Naegi’s grip. “Fuck, you’re embarrassing me! Look, we added some security measures and shit, plus you’ve got a fucking huge bear as a guard dog; so, once you’re all moved in, I’ll be taking Peko back.”

“Ah.” He was proud of how his tone didn’t betray anything, although he felt his smile twitch. He was tempted to look at Pekoyama to see how she felt, but didn’t dare. “Of course.”

Kuzuryu leaned forward, so that he could see and yell at Komaeda across Naegi’s lap. “And don’t you go setting up camp on his doorstep. I’ve told the soldiers to keep an eye out for you!”

“I’m not even allowed to visit?” Komaeda asked innocently.

Kuzuryu swore under his breath. “You can fucking visit. Just no sleeping on his doorstep.”

“Komaeda-kun, do you still not have a room?” Naegi asked.

“It’s fine,” Komaeda said. “I have a sleeping bag so I nap wherever it’s dark and quiet.”

That didn’t seem fair. Everyone else had a room. Komaeda was looking at him and . . . did he expect something? It looked like he expected something. ( _His stomach was tight_ ) Oh! Komaeda probably expected him to offer to share his room! It wasn’t like they had never slept in the same room before ( _goosebumps erupted all over his skin_ ).

Naegi opened his mouth –

“It’s alright, Naegi-kun,” Komaeda said. “It’s your room. You don’t need to share it.”

“But –”

“I actually chose not to get a replacement room,” Komaeda said. “So, it’s really nothing to worry about.”

Kuzuryu chose that moment to speak up.

“You were actually going to let that guy sleep in the same room as you?” the Yakuza said in horrified disbelief.

“. . . Yes?” Naegi said.

Kuzuryu squinted at him. “Don’t you ever get sick of him? I mean he slobbers over you here, and he used to turn on that Killing Game broadcast just so he could park himself there and watch you all day. I bet he watched you in the bathroom –”

“There were no cameras in the bathrooms!” Komaeda said quickly. He side-eyed Tsumiki, who had gone very still.

“ . . .  Okay, he didn’t watch you in there, but he was still watching you all the time,” Kuzuryu amended.

“It’s not like he was the only one watching me,” Naegi pointed out. “Plus, he wasn’t watching me for very long, because we left pretty quickly after that last trial. It’s not a big deal.”

Kuzuryu continued staring at him. His mouth was open a little, as if he wanted to speak.

Then, he aimed his gaze directly at Tsumiki and Komaeda, and said, “You two, take a hike. This was supposed to be a private conversation.”

“But –” One of them said.

“ _Now_.”

The two left. Pekoyama repositioned herself so that she stood between them, and him and Kuzuryu.

“The fuck do you mean he wasn’t watching you for that long?” Kuzuryu demanded.

“Komaeda-kun started watching me when I became Hope,” Naegi explained patiently. “That only happened near the end of the broadcast.”

Kuzuryu readjusted his fedora. He seemed to be buying time.

“Is that what he told you?” Kuzuryu asked.

Naegi blinked. “Well, no. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Komaeda-kun isn’t very fond of ordinary people, and up until then, I was still only a Lucky Student.”

“That makes sense,” Kuzuryu said.

Naegi preened –

“. . . Which is why it’s weirder that it’s not true,” Kuzuryu finished.

“What do you mean?” Naegi asked.

“I mean that Komaeda was already stalking you by the time that shit went down. He started watching you after the trial where the Martial Artist offed herself.”

“He . . .” His heart thumped once, and then went silent. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He didn’t know what to think about this revelation. Komaeda had gone after him for his hope. But he had been watching before Naegi became Hope? It didn’t make sense! Not unless . . . unless Komaeda had suspected something before Kirigiri or even Enoshima said. He supposed that was possible. Komaeda was very clever, and unlike the other two, he was wired to search for hope first and everything else second. He wouldn’t know for certain though unless Komaeda told him.

He looked around. Komaeda and Mikan were keeping a respectful distance. Pekoyama was here, but she didn’t seem the type to gossip.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” Kuzuryu said.

Naegi took a deep breath. “What happened to Nanami Chiaki?”

Silence.

“Damn.” That was nearly a whisper. “You don’t hold back, do you, Naegi? How much do you know?”

“She was part of your class. She seemed to be friends with Kamukura-kun or something, and . . . she’s dead, isn’t she?”

He expected Kuzuryu to giggle. It wasn’t that he thought it was funny or anything, or even that he thought that Kuzuryu would think it was funny. It was because Kuzuryu was Ultimate Despair, and that was what they did. But Kuzuryu didn’t laugh. He looked straight ahead instead, hands in his lap as he quietly confirmed Naegi’s suspicions.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Kuzuryu said. “You would have to ask Hope’s Peak or something. Like, I know what they told the media, but there’s no fucking way it’s true.”

“No?”

“I know you don’t remember her, but Nanami was a good person. She wasn’t . . . like fuck, she was probably violent in her video games, but that’s because she was supposed to be . . .”

“Kuzuryu-kun, what did Hope’s Peak say?”

He looked old at that moment. “They said whatever happened, happened because she was trying to kill Kamukura.”

She . . .

“It’s fucking nonsense!” Kuzuryu spat. “Yeah, those two argued and they had a big fight a couple of days before shit went down, but she wouldn’t have . . . You know what I think? I think Kamukura killed her, and those bastards tried to cover it up!”

“That’s . . . that can’t be right, either! Kamukura liked her, didn’t he? There’s no way he would –”

“It makes more sense than fucking Nanami attacking him!” Kuzuryu snapped back. “It wouldn’t be the only time Kamukura tried to off one of us, either.”

Not the first time? He couldn’t deny that Kamukura seemed like the type of person who could snap somebody’s neck and not feel bad about it. However, he also seemed like the kind of person who couldn’t be bothered to go that far.

“Who?” he asked.

“Who else?” The smirk Kuzuryu tried to muster wasn’t quite there. “Fucking Komaeda.”

A spike of fear plunged into his heart at that name, and Naegi had to swing around and look for the other, just to make sure he was okay. His pulse was still racing when Komaeda noticed his stare, and waved.

“I don’t know what happened for sure,” Kuzuryu said, drawing Naegi’s attention again. “It was a few days after Kamukura returned to class – he was gone for like a month or so – following whatever happened with Nanami. Guy came in, he and Komaeda started talking. Then . . . I don’t know. There was shouting and I turned around, and Kamukura had Komaeda pinned on the ground with his hands wrapped around his throat . . . and Komaeda’s turning fucking blue. Took half the class to pull him off.”

“I don’t understand,” Naegi said. “ _Why_? How could Komaeda-kun have provoked him that much?”

“Dunno. Both of them refused to talk. Kamukura hardly even spoke at all afterwards. Bastard wasn’t friendly when we first met him, but now you could point a gun at his face and he wouldn’t react. Course, he only refused to speak to us. But hey, it turned out that he had no problems speaking to _her_.”

Naegi knew who that was without being told. “Enoshima.”

“Yep.” Kuzuryu leaned back, a smile on his face. His legs crossed over one another at the knee. “Even Kamukura couldn’t deny her”

His skin crawled. In context, Kuzuryu seemed to mean that Kamukura still spoke to Enoshima even after he stopped speaking to his classmates. But was that all it meant? To say Kamukura couldn’t deny her . . . could that possibly mean –?

No, it couldn’t be. Kamukura wasn’t part of Ultimate Despair. He clearly received no pleasure from witnessing despair.

A bit of dust fell from the ceiling.

“Huh. Looks like they actually got a bomber through,” Kuzuryu said.

“This place won’t collapse, right?” Naegi demanded.

“Don’t worry about it. Hey, let me reassure you.” Kuzuryu stood, and shouted over the couch. “Soda! You sure this place will hold?”

Soda stared at him.

The entire room was then treated to a very detailed rant about how Soda and his teammates (which, as they were reminded several times, had included the Ultimate Architect and Builder) had constructed this place with safety as its number one priority. He then proceeded to explain how much force everything could take before anything collapsed – and how many elephants that was equivalent to – along with every safety precaution he and whatever teammates had implemented just in case.

Legs crossed, hands behind his head, Kuzuryu lifted an eyebrow. “Satisfied, Naegi.”

He nodded wordlessly. Soda was breathing heavily, still red in the face.

Kuzuryu said, “One more thing. Now that everyone’s here and settled in, it’s time to finally lay certain things to rest.”

Naegi stared at him blankly.

“Like literally lay someone to rest,” Kuzuryu prompted. When Naegi still stared at him blankly, he said in a louder voice, “It’s a fucking funeral. We’re going to hold Enoshima-san’s funeral tomorrow.”

Her frozen body flashed in front of his eyes again. He had barely thought about it after he had first seen her.

“That’s rather soon, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you take some time to plan it?” And, that would give him a chance to figure out what to do.

“That stuff’s all done. We’ve just been waiting for those two to arrive.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Nevermind and Koizumi. “Anyways, what I really wanted to ask was whether you’ve come up with your piece?”

“My . . .?”

“Your speech. Everyone’s expecting you to make a speech, you know.”

No. No, he had not.

Was it hot in here, or was it just him?

Kuzuryu snickered. “Relax, I thought that would be your answer. I already wrote a speech for you. Look over it, and then all you got to do is walk up there, and spit it out tomorrow.”

Naegi groaned with relief. “Thank you.”

Kuzuryu reached into his jacket, and then pulled out a envelope and handed it to him. Naegi took it, and gingerly opened it. It didn’t seem too long. He skimmed over the text –

“. . . Thank you for taking in my old, boring-ass self?” he read off the paper.

“Yeah. What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“ _Really_?”

“. . . Fine. I’ll make it sound more like you.”

They were quiet after that. Komaeda, having seen Phillip serve his queen and probably aching for a chance to get closer, suddenly appeared asking if they wanted any drinks. Naegi refused, Kuzuryu did not, and the Luckster happily trotted off to fulfill his order. Kuma also appeared behind them. The bear had gotten his jaws on a basket of nachos (by the sounds of the shouting behind them, it had belonged to Soda), and he balanced it on the back of the couch as he tucked in. Crumbs rained down on Naegi’s head.

“It is just Enoshima’s funeral tomorrow?” he asked. He reached up and brushed some crumbs from his hair.

“Who else would there be?”

“What about Ikusaba?”

The name was awkward on his tongue. He had barely known the girl – and apparently, what he had known had all been an act. His feelings about the Ultimate Soldier were muddled. Had it been just after they escaped from the school, he would have been able to brush them off as dislike. Now though, having spent so much time with Ultimate Despair, having seen how badly they’d been twisted and warped by whatever strange power Enoshima had . . . he had to wonder. How much of Ikusaba had really been herself? How much of it had been a caricature constructed by her sister? And if Enoshima had been a puppet master tugging at her sister’s strings, how much and where did the blame lay?

“Her? Why would we care?” Kuzuryu asked.

“She was part of Ultimate Despair too, wasn’t she? I mean I bet the rest of you would have a funeral if any of you died.”

“That’s different,” Kuzuryu said. “We’re classmates. Ikusaba wasn’t part of our class. She . . . she and Enoshima-san . . .”

For a second, Naegi thought he saw rage burning deep within the other’s eyes. But then Kuzuryu shrugged, and it was wiped away so quickly he wasn’t entirely sure it had been real.

“The point is, we don’t really give a shit.”

Naegi was quiet. He didn’t think he could make Kuzuryu suddenly care about her, but he didn’t want to let this go, either. Though his feelings towards Ikusaba were still very unclear, he did think that if Enoshima had a funeral, she should get one, too. Especially when they considered the circumstances of Ikusaba’s death.

“Enoshima-san didn’t like her very much, right?” Naegi said, watching Kuzuryu like a hawk. “Enoshima-san thought her sister was useless.”

Eyes closed, leaning against the couch, Kuzuryu answered, “Yep.”

“So, wouldn’t she have gotten a lot of despair from having to share her funeral with someone so worthless? I mean, all that despair and mourning that was supposed to go to her, is now being split up between two . . . it’s terrible, isn’t it? It’s despairful. It’s almost like one last offering to her . . .”

The Yakuza opened one eye.

“I guess you could think of it that way. I’ll talk to the others and see what they think.”

“Thank you.”

A nacho suddenly fell onto his head.

That was the only warning he got before Kuma was trying to eat his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> The funeral.


	52. The Funeral (Part 1)

“I only got this suit a couple of days ago, but it seems to be the only thing I wear now.”

“Oh, but you look so handsome in it!” Tsumiki said. She was standing in front of Naegi, helpfully fixing his tie. Her plain, black dress matched his suit and, he noticed with distaste, her widower’s hat. He wanted to knock it right off her head.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m paranoid that I’m going to spill something on it.”

“Well . . .” Tsumiki pursued her lips. “After today, you shouldn’t have to wear it unless you’re taking pictures with Nevermind-san.”

“I look forward to leaving it in my closet.”

Komaeda laughed. “That’s a shame.”

Naegi scowled at him. “You’re one to talk. You’re not even wearing a suit!”

It was true. The Luckster wasn’t wearing a fancy suit like Naegi was, though that wasn’t to say he was wearing his regular clothes either. He wore a white dress shirt, a tie and black pants. Nothing plain, but nothing fancy either. It was very average.

( _He had whispered to Komaeda earlier that you were supposed to wear black to a funeral. Komaeda had looked at him blankly and said that he looked better in this_ ).

Komaeda gave him a lopsided smile. “That’s because I’m not making a big speech today.”

“Oh, don’t forget that!” Tsumiki snatched up the prepared speech from Naegi’s bedside table, and stuffed it into his front pocket. “Have you looked over it?”

“Yeah. It’s okay, I guess.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. Nobody’s expecting you to be perfect. It’s very sweet of you to do this for her in the first place.”

“There’s really no need to worry!” In that short two seconds they hadn’t been looking, Komaeda had bounced up behind him to begin gushing. “Anything you say will be amazing. You’re Hope! That’s what you do. You speak and hope infuses your words and makes –”

“Komaeda-kun, I think you’re making him worry.”

“Eh? Ah, I assure you Naegi-kun, that was not my intention!”

“It’s fine,” Naegi said. “I . . . Let’s do this, I guess. Pekoyama-san, you ready?”

“I am,” she said.

He checked on Kuma one last time. Tanaka had dropped by and given Naegi a brush, and an adorable spotted bowtie for him. However, Kuma didn’t seem to like the accessory and by the time Naegi walked over, Kuma had plucked it off. Again.

“Oh, Kuma. You need to keep that on.” On impulse, he grabbed the brush and dragged it down the bear’s neck, cleaning up some tangles only he could see. “Can you do that? It’s only for one day.”

He clipped the bowtie to Kuma’s chest again, and stood back.

Kuma reached up and pulled it off.

“I think it’s a lost cause,” he said to his human companions.

The five of them departed. Komaeda led the way. Naegi and Tsumiki walked side-by-side, his hand engulfed in the gentle, yet firm grip of the Nurse. Pekoyama was right behind them, back ramrod straight, sword sheathed to her belt, wearing the same suit the rest of the yakuza wore. Kuma followed even further behind; the bear was constantly wandering off to sniff at things, or falling behind because he simply didn’t feel like moving.

Naegi took a deep breath. He had no idea what to expect when the doors to the church opened. Something majestic? Hideous? For on one hand, Ultimate Despair clearly adored their departed leader, but on the other hand, they and Enoshima adored despair. Which path would they go down?

As it turned out, it appeared to be the first one. Naegi walked into a bright, shining room with not one, but two, glass coffins upon the flower-lined altar ( _His chest sagged a little in relief_ ). All along the borders of the room, Monokuma robots stood, paws rubbing their eyes as they cried non-existent tears. Mioda stood in one corner, solemnly playing what he thought was a hymn on her guitar. The front row of pews were all occupied by Ultimate Despair; he could see where he and the others were supposed to sit. Behind the front row, Monokuma soldiers filled the seats. They stared straight ahead, all with backs straight and hands in their lap.

“You brought the bear?” Kuzuryu said as they approached.

“Yeah,” Naegi said, confused about the surprise he saw.

“. . . I guess he can sit in the aisle.”

Tsumiki tugged him towards the coffins. They had been the last to arrive, so they were alone now in saying goodbye. Pekoyama lingered back, and Naegi didn’t know whether she didn’t feel like she was allowed to give her respects, or simply refused to grant Enoshima that kindness. Komaeda, similarly, followed them all the way to the edge of the altar, but refused to get any closer.

Eyes closed, Tsumiki laid her hand on the top of the glass, and mouthed a silent apology. Her arms shook a little. Naegi squeezed her hand, but otherwise didn’t know how to comfort her. But at least she hadn’t started wailing like last time, and he took that to mean he didn’t have to pretend to cry this time either. Instead, he let his eyes wander onto the collage set up behind the coffins. Enoshima’s side was filled with photos. Some of them had been taken by Ultimate Despair, others appeared to be taken by someone in his class. There were plenty from her modelling career, and a couple that might have even been taken at home. And on Ikusaba’s side . . .

There was a drawing of a stick figure holding a knife.

He decided to assume that was due to a lack of time to prepare, and not any malice.

The same went for when he looked down, and got a good view of the bodies.

Enoshima’s body was as he remembered it. Grey, stiff, dotted with old wounds. Even though this glass case didn’t seem to be a fridge like her last one, she still looked frozen. His eyes, he noted with discomfort, had been propped open instead of closed. No doubt they were meant to stare into your soul, to accuse and haunt until you despaired . . . he wrenched his eyes away. Ikusaba’s body was much easier to look, though no less strange. That was because it . . . well . . . wasn’t a real body. From a distance, the mistake was excusable. But close up, you had to be blind not to notice that Ikusaba had buttons for eyes, and head that was too flat and round, and skin that was too soft and off-colour. Because she was a doll. A life-size, fabric doll.

The effort put into that doll might be the most love she got today, Naegi reflected as Tsumiki turned away from the coffins without ever glancing at the Ultimate Soldier’s pretend body.

They retired to the pews. He sat on the inside end, next to Kuma. The bear was chewing lazily on the armrest, and Naegi grabbed him and buried his face in his fur. Kuma dislodged him with a simple toss of his head, then reached over and closed his jaws around Naegi’s arm. Like last time, Kuma didn’t bite down. It was soothing, in a way, like Kuma was trying to hold his hand. Tsumiki sat on his other side. Then Komaeda, and then the rest of the Despairs in no particular order. Mioda had put away her guitar by now, and was settling into the a seat on the other end. Even Pekoyama was allowed to sit this time.

“Guess it’s show time.”

Kuzuryu’s fedora had been resting on his lap, but he swept it up and placed it on his head now. The Yakuza, alone, walked up to the altar and took his position at the stand in front of the two coffins. He lowered the microphone. He lowered the microphone _a lot_. Then, after fixing his tie one last time, he began to speak.

“Alright. Let’s jump right into it. I’m sure you all know why we’re here today. Actually, you better know why we’re here today because it’s a fucking big deal! But in case you’ve been living under a fucking rock, it’s because we’re paying tribute to the greatest person who’s ever lived, Enoshima Junko! It was Enoshima-san, the true Ultimate Despair, that brought us all together like this. She showed us the path of despair – the only worthwhile path – and . . . fuck, I get teary just thinking about it!”

Kuzuryu wiped a tear away from his swirling eyes. “Enoshima-san changed our lives. She made us into the people we are today. She transformed us. Everything we have, we owe to her. We would have been nothing without her. The _world_ would have been nothing without her. I know you all know that, but I can’t help but say it over and over again. Enoshima-san was god. She is . . . everything. Oh, and Ikusaba’s dead, too.”

(Naegi glanced at the papers in his hand. The speech had seemed fine when he looked over it, but now he was having second thoughts).

Kuzuryu didn’t speak much longer, and that was probably a good thing. Even ignoring his choice of words, the Yakuza didn’t seem very comfortable up there. The more time ticked by, the more sweaty and fidgety he became. When he finally passed it off to Nevermind, he was begin to mumble.

“Thank you for that lovely opening, Fuyuhiko,” she said. Naegi couldn’t tell whether she meant it. “Although I am here today to pay personal respects as Enoshima-san’s friend and ally, please allow me to speak on behalf of the people of my country. Enoshima-san, although you spent little time in Novoselic, our people adored you. Your wisdom has brought about an age of supremacy unlike any other, where the brave citizens of Novoselic no longer fear the encroachment of the unenlightened. The religion you have spread, your religion of despair has touched our souls and its commands speak to us with a passion that dwarfs even love. Enoshima-san, please!” Nevermind’s voice rose as she raised her arms to the sky. “Accept Novoselic’s gratitude. Accept Novoselic’s thanks! Accept Novoselic’s love!”

Thunderous applause rose from the back row. Naegi hadn’t seen them before, but the servants and soldiers that had followed Nevermind from Novoselic were there. They gave their queen a standing ovation, and Nevermind smiled.

“Novoselic’s tribute will come later, but I just wanted to make sure you knew how much we miss you,” Nevermind finished. “And Ikusaba, we thank you for your sacrifice.”

Naegi watched silently as Nevermind left the stage. He had to admit, he had been expecting longer speeches. Although if every single one of the Despairs were planning on speak, then he understood why they would be brief. And he didn’t mind, either. It creeped him out to watch his friends speak so lovingly of the one who had destroyed the world and their lives. The sooner this was over, the better.

Mikan squeezed his hand, and then she was up.

While Kuzuryu and Nevermind had both stood tall and proud, like true leaders, Tsumiki was the opposite. The poor Nurse hunched over, her gaze switching between a small set of various fixed points on the ground. Naegi could practically hear her rapid heartbeat, and he gave her a small smile for support. He tried to at least, but she didn’t look his way.

 “Umm . . . thank you for letting me speak. I know I don’t have as many great things to say as Kuzuryu-kun and Nevermind-san, b-but I’m going to do my best! Enoshima-san . . . she . . . she was amazing. She was the k-kindest person I knew. She looked at me, and spoke to me, a-and loved me. Sometimes . . . sometimes I got to call her Junko! Nobody else let me call them by their first name. They all thought I was ugly, and smelly, and stupid. Which I . . .”

She suddenly stopped speaking. Her head bobbed a little, as if she had been about to look up at the audience. Tsumiki cleared her throat. She delayed a little longer, before steeling herself to speak again.

“Enoshima-san was everything. She was wise, and beautiful, and loving . . . I loved her. I love her. More than anything in the world, I love my beloved! That’s why I can see her when I close my eyes.” Tsumiki did so, a smile flittering across her lips. “That’s why when I close my eyes, I can . . .”

Her volume hadn’t dropped. The sentence hadn’t finished. Her mouth had opened, and she had formed half a word. Yet she did not speak. Something stiffened in her face. Her eyes creaked open. Her mouth remained in an ‘o’ as she stared straight ahead at something only she could see.

Kuzuryu coughed loudly.

“E-eh!” Her body snapped rigid like a frightened animal, making her hair flare out. “Umm . . . I, uh . . . Enoshima-san! Thank you! Thank you for noticing me, and loving me, and being Enoshima-san!”

She earned polite applause that she didn’t even wait to receive. By the time Naegi had put his hands together twice, she was already scrabbling back into her seat. Back flat against the pew, head tilted upwards, she breathed heavily. To Naegi’s concern and shock, she seemed pale. Her hand was shaking as it covered her mouth, as if she was about to be sick.

“Mikan?” He tugged at her sleeve.

She looked in the opposite direction.

The rejection stung. Naegi bit his lip, told himself that she was worked up from speaking in front of a crowd, and that it was nothing personal. He wanted to push, wanted to figure out what was wrong, but Komaeda gently tapped on his shoulder. When he turned, he saw the rest of Ultimate Despair watching him with expectation.

Right. Mikan would have to wait.

It was daunting seeing all those eyes on him. He wiped his hands on his pants. Komaeda was smiling at him, as were quite a few members of Ultimate Despair. The Monokuma soldiers stared at him with blank faces, but they were all brainwashed and didn’t care anyways. The neutral faces of Nevermind’s people was much more intimidating.

What struck him most though, was that Mikan wasn’t looking at him. She was still staring off to the side, hands shaking in her lap.

 _But I can’t deal with that now_ , he thought sullenly. He licked chapped lips, scanned over his audience once more; tried to build up some kind of excitement. All he got was the opposite. Dread seemed to seep off his body like sweat as he unfolded his speech and flattened it out on the stand before him. Naegi had added bits here and there, but most of these words belonged to Kuzuryu and the Imposter.

“H-hello, everyone!” His voice trembled, and he winced. But no one laughed, and Kuzuryu was grinning and gesturing for him to continue. “My name is Naegi Makoto, and I’m the Ultimate Hope. I’m not sure why I’m introducing myself to you guys again since we basically live together.”

Kuzuryu actually let out a bark of laughter and nudged Nevermind, who seemed pleased.

“Uh, I guess I’m here to represent my class and Hope’s Peak as Enoshima-san’s . . . friend.”

Oh. He could feel the disapproval. He was supposed to say ‘heir’ – Kuzuryu had personally told him that –  but he just couldn’t. He hurriedly grabbed the paper with the part he wanted to read next, nearly spilling them all over the ground, and moved on as quickly.

“I’m going to talk about Ikusaba-san!” he nearly shouted. He tried not to look at Kuzuryu, knowing he was probably be fuming. So far, everyone had waxed on about Enoshima first, and mentioned Ikusaba as an afterthought. Naegi was supposed to do the same, but it just seemed cruel. So, he was going to talk about her first, and hopefully, Kuzuryu wouldn’t care that he wrote this section without informing him.

“I honestly don’t know very much about Ikusaba. My memories of her in school were erased, and she died really early on. Plus, she was pretending to be Enoshima-san the whole time. But I still know some things about her. She was the Ultimate Soldier and . . . and she loved her sister. She must have – why else would she agree to help Enoshima-san with her plans? She loved her, and she was loyal, and she did everything she could to help. So . . . I just wanted everyone to know that Ikusaba-san was important, too!”

He finally looked up. They were all staring at him. Kuzuryu was nodding to himself, and looked very pleased. Naegi relaxed. The hard part was over.

“Of course, we also need to talk about Enoshima-san!” His relief made his voice lighter, which really only worked out in his favour. “Enoshima-san was special. Very special. I don’t understand her as well as the rest of you do, but . . . I know she was very important to a lot of people.” (Someone blew their nose loudly). “She was my classmate; and she . . . she created me, I guess you could say. Without her, I don’t think I would have discovered my true talent. The Ultimate Hope couldn’t exist without the Ultimate Despair; we’re two sides of the same coin and . . . A lot of things would have been different without her.”

He muttered that last part, and not in a good way. Luckily, it seemed most of Ultimate Despair hadn’t understood him. They watched patiently, instead. But Mioda had tilted her head to one side, and she was whispering to the Imposter, who was watching Naegi carefully.

His mind went blank. He was just barely able to remember that he had papers in front of him telling him what to say. He looked down sharply, locked onto the first new line.

_It’s just words. It doesn’t matter. It’s just words. Just talk. Just keep talking. You know how to do this._

He spoke.

“Enoshima-san created me; she gave me – she gave us the world. It is time for Ultimate Despair to fulfill its debt to her. The world Enoshima-san left behind was her world. It was despair’s world. But even though Enoshima-san is gone, that doesn’t mean this world isn’t hers anymore. It will be as long as we fight to keep it that way. That’s why . . . that’s why I’m asking you all to fight with me. I want you to fight with me to make sure that her dream survives.”

His words rang surprisingly strong through the church. (It was so _easy_!) Naegi moved onto the next line as the same words echoed over and over again in his mind.

_It’s only words. Just keep talking. Just keep talking._

“I want you to help me. I want you to help me spread her name to all corners of the globe. I want to paint every surface in the world with her name; to cover the world in a blanket of despair so thick that even after humanity dies out, despair will remain. That is Enoshima-san’s dream. That’s what she would have wanted. So, please, help me. Help me bring her dream to life. And for those of you, in the Future Foundation and elsewhere, who would stand in her way . . .”

He swallowed hard, and read the last line.

“We’re coming for you.”

The room broke out into wild applause. Naegi blinked, surprised. His speech hadn’t been that good, but Despairs were cheering, and laughing, and giving him a standing ovation; Kuzuryu and Nevermind gave each other a high five. He didn’t get why.

“Perfect! Fucking perfect!” Kuzuryu crowed as Naegi return to his seat. “You nailed it!”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“You were a bit weak at the beginning, but you really sounded like you meant it by the end,” Komaeda said.

Naegi grinned. “Thanks! Uh, what now?”

Kuzuryu said, “Just sit back and relax now. Your part is over.”

* * *

_Stop._

 “Enoshima-san was special. Very special.”

_Naegi, stop._

“I don’t understand her as well as the rest of you do, but . . . I know she was very important to a lot of people.”

_Naegi, you’re smarter than this._

“She was my classmate; and she . . . she created me, I guess you could say.”

_Naegi, you need to stop and think about what you’re doing._

“Without her, I don’t think I would have discovered my true talent.”

  _Naegi, **think.**_

 “The Ultimate Hope couldn’t exist without the Ultimate Despair.”

_Why do you think they want you to say this?_

_Naegi . . ._

“We’re two sides of the same coin.”

_. . . You’re not going to stop._

“Wow. I didn’t know that Imposter was so good,” Hagakure said nervously. “He really does look like Naegi-chi.”

Kirigiri stood. She briskly walked over to her desk, snatched up her briefcase, and then turned the portable TV off.

“Hey! I was watching that -!”

“We need to go,” she said.

Hagakure frowned. “But –!”

“ _Now!_ ”

Although it was usually a pain, she was glad this time that Hagakure was a coward. The instant her voice sharpened, he leapt to his feet and quailed before her as she herded him out of her office. She passed him and started walking quickly down the hall, commanding him to follow with nothing but her sheer presence.

“Kirigiri-chi, what –?”

“Don’t speak!” she whispered as loudly as she dared. “Don’t look anyone in the eye. Just keep moving.”

Doors had been left open all over the hallway. Every office they passed had at least one occupant whose only concern was the screen in front of them. Naegi’s voice floated out of all those screens, drifting into the hallway, echoing until it seemed to be the very fabric that the world was built upon. Hagakure was bugged out, but Kirigiri refused to let him stop. She led him straight to the elevators, and ushered him aboard the first one that opened.

As the doors closed, the shouting began.

Kirigiri rammed her key into the elevator controls and turned it, ensuring that they would stop at no other floors before their destination. She pressed the button for the basement and then waited, as stoic as ever.

“Uh, what are we doing?” Hagakure asked.

“We can’t be here,” she said. “Not now.”

“Is this about that Imposter? I mean, yeah, it’s weird and all, but –”

Kirigiri closed her eyes, wishing she could give any answer but the one she had to now. “That wasn’t the Imposter. We saw the Imposter in the crowd earlier.”

“Eh? But couldn’t he have changed . . .?”

“That wasn’t the Imposter.”

Blood drained from Hagakure’s face as he finally caught on. “Then Naegi-chi . . .”

“Exactly. That’s why we need to leave.”

The basement level opened up into a parking lot. Kirigiri, remembering exactly where her assigned vehicle was, found it quickly. Hagakure fumbled his way into the passenger seat, whereas Kirigiri began to back up before his door was fully closed.

“Do up your seatbelt,” she ordered. “This may be a rough ride.”

They drove out of the parking lot and above ground. There were many roads that led away from the Future Foundation, but this time, their destination didn’t matter. Kirigiri aimed for the nearest one, knowing that all she had to do was get _out_.

Though most people worked inside the building, there was always some guards and what-nots outside. Grimly, Kirigiri noted that most of them were crowded around radios.

And almost as one, they suddenly looked up and straight at their car.

“Hagakure-kun, is your seat belt done up?”

“Yeah.”

“ . . . Brace yourself.”

She stomped on the gas.

She was just in time. A rock that would have gone through _her_ window crashed through the backseat one instead. As that barrier of glass shattered, the roar of the outside world came to greet them in a toxic mixture of shouts and rage. Something loud, something like a crack ( _gunshot_ ), seemed to go off too close to her ears. She pressed the gas down all the way, praying no one would follow.

They tore out of the area. The car shuddered and bounced, unused to such high speeds. Hagakure was shrieking, covering his head as the vibrations grew more and more fierce. Kirigiri tightened her grip on the wheel, her lips set in a hard line.

They drove until there was no other life. Once they were pulled over, Kirigiri pulled out her phone. Several missed messages. Ah, yes, that was to be expected. She pulled up Munakata’s number, and rang.

“Hello? Yes, it’s me. We’re fine. We’ve vacated the premises until you can secure them. Yes, I understand.”

She put the phone away, and turned toward Hagakure. He was leaning forward, arms propping him up against the dashboard as he fought to regain his breath.

“We’re to remain here until further notice. There is food and water bottles in the trunk.”

“Kirigiri-chi, why would he . . . ? Why would Naegi-chi say something like that?”

Kirigiri closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is why Ultimate Despair kept Naegi under wraps for so long. They wanted to make sure that when the public found out about him, it would have a _big_ impact.


	53. The Funeral (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is late because I spent the last 2-3 hours revising furiously and trying to make it _work_. Eh, don't know if I succeeded with that, but there's important things happening in this chapter.

Despair funerals were _weird_. Shortly after he had finished his speech, Kuzuryu had stood up and announced that it was time for a break. Then he, Koizumi and Nevermind had ran off – _cackling_. Naegi had stayed in his seat, half-convinced this was some kind of prank. But the church doors swung shut behind the three and didn’t open again, and several of the Despairs had started talking (well, crying in a lot of cases) to each other.

“Do funerals usually have breaks like this?” he asked.

“Not usually, but those three need to make sure everything went smoothly,” Komaeda said. “Nobody’s watching right now anyways; they’re all a little _emotional_ at the moment. We might get some of those viewers back if we give them time to calm down.”

He didn’t understand. Were the Monokuma soldiers capable of getting that emotional? He was about to question Komaeda further when a warm nose pressed against the back of his neck. He turned his head to see Kuma sadly looking down at his growling stomach.

“It can’t be lunch already,” Naegi muttered. He turned to Komaeda. “Komaeda-kun, what time is it?”

“Quarter to eleven. Why?”

“Kuma’s hungry.”

Komaeda’s fingers tapped on his knee. Though he faced Naegi, his eyes moved sideways to glance at the two coffins on the altar. “Well, it’s not like they would start without you. We probably have time to grab a quick snack.”

Naegi smiled. “Mikan, are you coming, too?”

The Nurse didn’t look at him. Her eyes were trained on her lap; her hands looked clammy and were curled into fists.

“Mikan?” He raised his arm, and it hovered there. Part of him wanted to touch her, to get her attention; but a more cautious part of him was afraid of triggering something.

Komaeda, however, had no such concerns. He snapped his fingers in front of the Nurse’s nose, making her flinch back so badly that she nearly bashed her skull against the pew.

“H-huh?” She looked from Komaeda to Naegi like a deer that had just realized it was surrounded by wolves. “Sorry! What’s going on?”

“Kuzuryu-kun, Nevermind-san and Koizumi-san are checking how everything went, so we’re on break. Naegi-kun wanted to head down to the kitchen for a snack.”

“Oh. Umm, I’ll pass.” She gave them a shaky smile, the kind that could be ripped off like a bandage.

“You’ll pass?” Naegi echoed, confused. He would have understood if they were in the middle of the service. But they weren’t, and she had turned down accompanying him. That was just . . . that was just _wrong_ somehow!

“Guess it’s just us,” Komaeda said. He stood and extended his hand to Naegi. “Let’s go!”

Kuma seemed to understand where they were going, and surged ahead. He reared up and bashed his paws against the exit impatiently; it took him a little while to understand that they could not open it while his chest was flush against the handles. When they did, the bear fell forwards, thankfully landing on his feet, and charged in the kitchen’s direction, leaving them behind.

“I’m pretty sure he ate this morning,” Komaeda said, looking puzzled.

“Maybe something happened and not enough food was weighed out?” Naegi said.

Komaeda laughed. “I guess that’s our bad luck for the day!”

Halfway there, they found Kuma walking back towards them, huffing with annoyance. Every second Kuma failed to convince them that they needed to run, not walk, to the kitchen was another point of frustration for the poor bear. By the time they reached their destination, Kuma’s ears were flat against his head, and he was refusing to look at them.

Naegi sighed. “Kuma, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened this morning. I mean, I’m sure I watched you eat something. Though, maybe I’m just remembering yesterday. But we’re here now, and there’s going to be plenty of food inside! So, you don’t need to be so upset.”

Kuma grumbled.

The door opened and Naegi pointed straight inside. “There you go, Kuma! Go get it!”

While Kuma may have been angry at him, he wasn’t about to let that stand in the way of him and food. He followed Naegi’s finger and threw himself into the kitchen, launching at the closest cabinet he saw . . .

Oh, dear. Hanamura was going to throw a fit when he saw the mess. (Maybe he could play it off as something to get despair from?)

“I’m not very hungry,” Komaeda said. “But there’s snacks in the cabinets in the fifth row if you want them.”

Sure, why not? He could bring some back with him, too, in case Kuma got hungry again later.

Unlike usual, the kitchens were empty today. He’d been told earlier that Ultimate Despair’s various servants, brainwashed or not, were either watching the funeral on television in designated areas, or on patrol (Nevermind had been very concerned about the Future Foundation attacking during the service). It made the kitchen eerie; Naegi associated it with noises like sizzling, frying, and chopping. This time, all he could hear was Kuma destroying everything in his quest for subsistence.

Yet, somehow, he didn’t hear the person walking up behind him.

A hand slapped over his mouth.

Before he could twitch, before he could kick or punch or fight and make noise, he was lifted off his feet. His attacker quickly pulled him towards the back, leaving Naegi’s to squirm and struggle uselessly for Komaeda who should have been _right there_. An arm was wrapped around his chest, and only tightened as the attacker leaned down and lips came close to his ear –

“Don’t say anything.”

Naegi blinked. The syllables of that familiar voice rolled through his body, ironing out the shivers that had taken over his skin.

Once the attacker sensed Naegi had calmed and was no longer fighting back, he was lowered to his feet. Naegi took a step forward to put some space between them, and then turned.

Kamukura stared back at him.

 _You’re back_ , he wanted to say, but Kamukura said to be quiet, so he was. He wondered at first if Kamukura had returned for the funeral. But if that were the case, why hadn’t he been in there with the rest of them? Why did he apparently not want Komaeda to see him? Why was he sneaking around at all, to begin with?

“The funeral is today, correct?”

He nodded.

“Once it resumes, I need you leave midway. Alone.”

What? Naegi opened his mouth –

“Naegi, I need you to do this.”

He hesitated.

( _But in the end, how could he say no?_ )

He ran back to Komaeda. He wasn’t sure how he managed to keep enough composure so that the Luckster didn’t realize anything was wrong. They lured Kuma out of the kitchen with tasty, tasty marshmallows (Kuma was never going to decide he was full on his own). Although Kuma looked back several times, contemplating whether to return to the site of plentiful food, they managed to convince him to return to the chapel.

The other three had already returned. Kuzuryu flashed him a rather frightening grin that he didn’t understand. He’d liked the speech, hadn’t he? Shortly after, the Yakuza started snickering to himself, and Naegi wisely turned his head away and ignored it.

One by one, the lingering members of Ultimate Despair sat down.

A hush fell over the room.

The funeral resumed.

Naegi had been informed that the others would make their speeches. He’d expected one of the Despairs to take the stand, but then Nevermind’s people rose as one in the back row, and marched to the front of the room. The people of Novoselic lined up before the coffins. The man in the centre, Phillip, raised a saber and shouted in a language he didn’t understand. Occasionally, the soldiers around him would all speak in unison. It sounded like a military chant.

All eyes were on those golden-white uniforms.

Without saying a word, Naegi slipped out of his seat. The chanting covered his footsteps as he ran for the exit.

Outside, Kamukura was waiting for him.

“What it is?” Naegi asked breathlessly.

Kamukura was silent for a long time.

“Come,” the older teen ordered.

He strode past Naegi. Naegi followed but after a few steps, he stuttered out and he stopped moving. He had a strong urge to lift his arm, to place his palm against the church doors as if that would anchor him to it.

“Kamukura-kun, can this wait?” he asked. “I don’t think anyone would be pleased if they realized I missed a big part of her funeral on purpose.”

“No.” Kamukura glanced over his shoulder at him. “Come.”

“I c-can’t.” He took a step backwards, curling into himself as Kamukura went dangerously still. “I know that Enoshima doesn’t mean a lot to you, but she does to them and they’re going to be really mad if I don’t go back in there –”

An iron grip closed around his upper arm.

Half-way in the process of turning back towards the church, Naegi froze. He stared at Kamukura, too shocked to be frightened by the other’s action. If Kamukura was surprised by his own behaviour, his face did not show it. Though Naegi thought he took just a fraction of a second too long to say what he did next.

“Naegi, _come_.”

Kamukura led him away. He gave no indication where they were headed, answered no questions; he seemed only to care if Naegi was at his heels. Yet despite the lack of clues, it didn’t take long for Naegi to figure out where they were going, for it was a path he had tread many times before . . .

Kamukura had taken him to the prison.

He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected to find. Something horrible, he supposed. There was none of that. The prison door opened and . . . and he saw the same things he had before. He checked again to be sure; yep, everyone he remembered was present. Nobody was dead.

Kamukura took him further into the prison. Right to Iwata’s cell. The grey-haired man looked just as surprised as Naegi felt. And that wonder only grew when Kamukura reached into his pocket and took up something shiny and silver –

With a click, the cell unlocked.

A moment later, Naegi found himself shoved inside.

“Crawl under the bed,” Kamukura ordered.

“. . . What?”

“What’s going on here?” Iwata rasped. The older man pushed himself to his feet, wedging his way between them. Naegi had rarely Iwata stand before. When he saw how Iwata had to lean against the cell bars to support himself, he understood why.

Kamukura spoke again. “Naegi, crawl under the bed.”

Naegi glanced at the floor there. It didn’t look very clean.

“Naegi, _listen to me._ ”

He stared at Kamukura, not understanding. He didn’t understand why Kamukura wanted him to do this, or what that thing on his face – like a ghost of a facial expression –that twitched in and out of existence was. Kamukura did not falter under his scrutiny. Instead, the opposite happened. His presence swelled, his eyes burned and Naegi suddenly found himself obeying and crawling under that bed.

Kamukura stepped forward. He grabbed one corner of the smelly, threadbare blanket.

“Reveal yourself to no one until I retrieve you. Do not come out no matter what happens.”

“I don’t –”

Kamukura put a finger to his lips. Naegi fell silent.

Kamukura turned to Iwata. “Make sure no one finds him.”

With that, he tugged the blanket so that it fell over the side of the bed, and hid everything underneath – hid him – from view.

He heard Iwata’s knees crack as the man seated himself next to the bed. Naegi poked the blanket a little, making it wave. Near the floor, the outline of Iwata’s knuckles appeared. Naegi grabbed that hand as best as he could, needing the comfort.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Iwata asked.

“No,” he said.

“. . . Can we trust him?”

“I think so.”

They fell silent.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there. Long enough for his legs to cramp. The stone floor was dirty and cold and Kuzuryu was going to kill him for dirtying his suit! Rats scurried nearby. Naegi wasn’t scared of rodents, but he didn’t want to see a feral rat up close and personal either. Thankfully, the rats seemed to think the same about him, and his cramped quarters were left alone.

“So, anything new?” Naegi asked, trying to inject a little humour or something into the silence.

“No. You?”

“They’re holding a funeral for Enoshima,” he said. “They’re going to be really upset when they realize I was missing.”

“Why would they care . . .?” Though he could not see Iwata, he could tell by the vibrations that echoed through his hand that the man had jerked sharply. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

“My life is just full of weirdness,” Naegi said. “It’s a side-product of my luck.”

“I suppose the jury is out on whether that is a good thing . . . Naegi-kun, don’t speak.”

Naegi shrunk into himself, almost thinking that Iwata was upset with him. But then he heard it: distant footfalls. He wouldn’t have recognized those as someone approaching, but he supposed Iwata and the prisoners would know after spending so long here.

He heard the door handle turn. Heard the hinges squeak as it creaked open.

Heard the shouts as someone was dragged in.

“– why the hell are you making this so hard?” Kuzuryu was snarling. “Just tell us where you stashed him this time!”

There was nothing. Then a sound like flesh hitting flesh.

“Careful!” Kuzuryu snapped. “You trying to give him a concussion or something?”

“Not on purpose. I was just going to wail on him until he spills,” Owari said.

A high-pitched laughter echoed through the prison. Each laugh was sharp, piercing, like the warning beeps of a bomb about to explode. Naegi could hear more scuffling, and a syllable that distinctly sounded like ‘ow’. That simple word shouldn’t have meant much to him, but it did. Because Naegi knew that laughter and voice, heard it in his dreams and nightmares. His spine began to tingle. Komaeda was here. Komaeda had no idea Naegi was here.

“Ah, Owari-san. Forgive me, but I can’t help but be . . . disappointed in you. Really, I know I’m an embarrassment to you Ultimates, but I would expect you to think enough of me to know I wouldn’t do _that_.”

“I don’t get it,” Owari said.

“He’s saying he’s not going to talk,” Kuzuryu said. “Fuck this. Look, Komaeda, I have no idea how you managed to knock out every single goddamn security camera for those ten minutes, but guess what – you messed up. The outside cameras were fine. We know he didn’t get outside, and we’re going to hunt him down!”

. . . It was probably just a figure of speech, but Naegi didn’t feel very good about that.

“Maybe you should give up, Kuzuryu-kun. I mean for Naegi-kun to suddenly disappear like that . . . maybe it’s a sign.”

It was a curious tone Komaeda used; one devoid of all inflection and emotion. Most people would have heard it, and chalked it down as odd. But Naegi was not most people. Naegi, who had spent hours upon hours in Komaeda’s presence and had seen the Luckster at his best and worse, placed that tone instantly.

It was a warning of imminent danger.

Komaeda did not know Naegi was here, but Naegi still inched backwards until he hit the wall.

“Put a fucking sock in it,” Kuzuryu said. “We’re going to find where you hid him, then we’re going back to the church so he can get his part and –”

The sudden flash of tension, of stress, of terror and outrage was so powerful that Naegi felt Komaeda lunge before he heard the Luckster’s animalistic snarl. There was scrabbling and rough voices and –

A thump as something hit the ground.

“Good hit!” Owari shouted.

“Young Master, are you injured?”

“I’m fine. Why are you just standing there like an idiot? Hurry up and lock him up so he stops getting in our way!”

Naegi couldn’t see, but the thrashing and grunting made it obvious that Komaeda wasn’t playing along. A frenzied whirlwind of emotions saturated the small area, and each word Komaeda spoke made it spin that much faster.

“No, no! I’m not letting you . . . You can’t do this!”

“I can do whatever the hell I want,” Kuzuryu said. “Lock him up.”

“You can’t do this to him! I’m not going to let you touch him!”

 _Click_.

“It’s done,” Pekoyama said.

“Stay away from him!

Kuzuryu said, “Let’s go. We got a Naegi to catch.”

Komaeda shrieked after them as they departed; it was a never-ending note of horror and despair. Only when the prison’s door shut did his voice break. He began speaking to himself in a frantic low voice, and Naegi could picture him pacing in front of the locked door. Whatever Komaeda was fighting with the others about was obviously serious. To think they had gone and thrown Komaeda in a cell . . . and hurt him! Naegi could hear it plainly in the other’s breathing. Komaeda was hurt. He wriggled forward. Komaeda was hurt and he needed to check –

His nose hit the blanket. He stopped.

Komaeda was hurt.

But Kamukura had told him to hide.

Komaeda was hurt.

But Kamukura told him to stay hidden no matter what.

His breathing quickened. He had to stay hidden. He had to see if Komaeda was alright. They were two equally necessary, but utterly incompatible objectives. He could see the imprint of Iwata’s back as he leaned against the bed, further sheltering him. That should have been it, should have been a sign he was meant to stay put, but then Komaeda started up with that laughter that grew and grew in pitch until it became a hiccup-like wheeze and that was _despair_ he heard and he needed to help . . .

Which commandment was he to obey: Kamukura’s, or his own?

He pulled at his hair. He was curled up on the floor, legs kicking out, flexing, drawing in closer – he thrashed silently like a dying animal. Everything inside was wound too tight in a single cord on the verge of snapping. Komaeda. Kamukura. Friendship. Trust. Too many things clashed and vied for his attention. Which to listen to? Which to obey?

How had he not started screaming yet?

His lungs burned. That was the only thing that told him he wasn’t breathing. So he did, and he coughed it up, and Iwata shifted and positioned himself right in front of where Naegi was; he was probably pretending to cough, too. His friend, Iwata, always so keen to help . . . not knowing that Naegi needed a very different kind of help.

To obey, or not obey?

Obey?

Don’t obey?

Obey?

Don’t Obey?

Obey?

Obey.

He pressed his hand against his mouth to stay silent. He wanted . . . he had a strange urge to sit up and bash his skull against a wall or something. He didn’t know why he wanted to do that, didn’t know if it was the pain, the impact or the distraction he was craving. Still, even obeying that urge could end up violating Kamukura’s instructions. He bit down on his arm instead.

Time passed in an instant. His back ached as if he’d spent it stretched out on a rack. Sharp steps echoed throughout the prison. Naegi thrashed and squirmed towards it, a silent keen coating the back of his throat.

The cell unlocked.

Kamukura stepped inside.

“You can leave now,” the red-eyed teen said.

Naegi took too long to roll out from underneath the bed. He rose on shaky legs. Kamukura watched, unmoved. Iwata was trying to question Kamukura, trying to act as though he had a chance to take on the Ultimate Everything. Kamukura brushed him off, and locked him back inside.

Naegi tried to peer around Kamukura to check on Komaeda.

“He’s fine,” Kamukura said.

Still, Naegi stopped when he reached Komaeda’s cell.

Komaeda was on his side in the center of the cell. His wheezy breathing trembled with a quiet whistle; it sounded painful. In the low light, it was hard to tell what state the Luckster was in, though Naegi was pretty sure there was a mottled bruise on the other’s temple. Komaeda didn’t seem to register he was looking at Naegi right away, but when he did, his entire body twitched.

“Naegi-kun?” he said quietly. “Where –?”

Komaeda trailed off when he saw Kamukura next to him.

“Kamukura-kun? When did you get back?”

“Naegi, let’s go,” Kamukura said. Naegi turned towards him, opened his mouth –

And Komaeda’s fists came down on the bars.

“What are you doing?” he shrieked at Kamukura. “You can’t take him out there!”

“It’s under control,” Kamukura said.

“No, no . . . Don’t you know what they’re doing out there? You can’t take him out into that!” Komaeda grabbed fistfuls of his hair, and _pulled_. “Kuzuryu-kun’s trying to . . . You can’t let them find him!”

“He’ll be fine,” Kamukura said.

Naegi cowered behind Kamukura. He had seen many, many types of expressions on Komaeda’s face before, but none like this. It was some wild, cornered look, like a rabid animal stuck in the hardened aftermath of a mudslide. The whites of Komaeda’s eyes were exposed; Naegi could see the veins in them. His teeth grinded against each other. It was too much to look at. He grabbed the back of Kamukura’s shirt and hid his face in that.

With Naegi attached to him, Kamukura kept walking. There was no choice but to follow –

Komaeda snarled. “ _Naegi, go back and hide right now!_ ”

And he froze as Komaeda’s rage slammed into him, ripped through his skin and _burned_. He was stumbling backwards, back towards that cell and the spot under the bed –

Kamukura grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, and pulled him away.

He dropped Naegi outside the prison. Literally. Naegi fell onto his shins and curled up. The memory of Komaeda’s rage was poison, making each cell it touched prickle and constrict. He coughed, almost wishing he could puke.

“Do I have to carry you?” Kamukura asked.

Naegi shook his head.

He took a little while to recover. Afterwards, Kamukura led him straight to Kuzuryu, Pekoyama and Soda. The Yakuza starting swearing in relief when he saw Naegi, shooed off Soda to go find something, and then approached with Pekoyama on his heels.

“Naegi, where the hell were you?”

“Uh . . .” He glanced at Kamukura.

“Did Komaeda tie you up and throw you in a closet somewhere?”

“Why would he do that?” Naegi asked.

“I dunno. To make sure you stayed hidden.” Kuzuryu scoffed, and rolled his eyes. “He’s not impressed with what we’re trying to do here. Whatever. We’ll deal with it later.”

“Oh.”

Naegi bit his lip, and then addressed the elephant in the room.

“Kuzuryu-kun, why do you have an eyepatch?”

Kuzuryu grinned.

“Don’t you worry, Naegi. You’re about to find out . . .”

Soda burst into the room. He shouted, “Hey guys, it’s gone!”

Kuzuryu whipped around. “What do you mean it’s gone?”

“Like it’s not there anymore. It’s vanished.”

“The fuck . . .? Well, who moved it? It’s not alive. It couldn’t have walked off by itself!”

“I don’t know,” Soda said. “All I know is that it’s not there anymore.”

Kuzuryu swore. “Naegi, stay here. I’m going to look.”

The three ran off, leaving Naegi alone with Kamukura. He looked up at the older teen, and asked, “What are they talking about?”

Kamukura looked at him.

“. . . Are you sure you want to know?”

* * *

It was quiet outside. Although honestly, most days it was. The ruins around Ultimate Despair’s headquarters were abandoned long ago. The only people who lingered there now were spies desperately looking for a way to get inside that massive building, and those who wished to die – often horribly.

But today, there was one other. Someone not far from headquarters. Dirt stained her knees and arms. Sweat dotted her forehead. There was a small hole in front of her and a trowel in her hand. And she was talking, saying the same two words over and over and over . . .

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Tsumiki sobbed loudly, and tossed another handful of dirt aside. She looked to her other side at the piece of cloth she had taken with her. It was wrapped around something small and round.

“I’m sorry! I . . . I don’t know what to do! I know I’m ruining everything and everyone’s going to hate me. . . B-but they want Makoto to. . . They’re going to –!”

Tsumiki fell forwards, her forehead nearly touching the ground as she wailed.

“I’m sorry!”

Every cell in her body seemed to be rebelling. They were shrieking and moaning and it burned and it _burned_ –

“It’s bad! It’s not good for him.”

Yet the screaming in her head said otherwise. Said this was right, the perfect gift for her beloved; a piece of her in him forever and ever and ever and ever and e v e r  a n d  e v e r

“N-no, I can’t! It’s not . . .”

And she was such a stupid girl because couldn’t she see how brilliant this was? The perfect despair was sitting right in front of her wrapped with a bow and she would be stupid not to take it and god, it hurt _ithurtithurtithurt_ she could feel _it_ pushing forward and god, wouldn’t it be wonderful? Wouldn’t it be so despairful? Because despair was good, despair was life, and wouldn’t it be _wonderful_?

“I . . .”

His pain would be delicious. It would be such a relief to finally see him fall, to finally see him _despair_ –

“N-no.”

No?

“Th-that’s not what I want. I don’t want him to . . .”

What are you saying?

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

What are you talking about? Despair is good. He’ll love it –

“N-no. It’ll hurt him. It’s not good for him. It’s . . . it’s not right.”

Despair is good. Despair is life

“I don’t want him to be like them!” she sobbed. “I don’t want to see him starve himself, or hurt himself, or hate everyone because it hurts him to hate them. That. . . that isn’t Makoto! That isn’t right.

“Despair . . . it isn’t right.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It _hurt_.

Her screams rang through the air, but no one was there to hear them. Red-hot chains lashed against her flesh, tearing into her mind with the frenzy of a starved animal. Everything was tightening around her and hurting and hurting and it wasn’t going to stop until she gave in. A murky tide darkened her vision and she was falling again, drowning as the despair rose and she started to giggle

 _No_.

She couldn’t stop the laughter. She could see her glowing swirls reflected in the blade of the trowel –

**_NO!_ **

And everything stopped.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tsumiki blinked. Shakily, she moved her hands under her, and pushed herself up to her elbows. The trowel was impaled in the dirt in front of her, splitting down the center of Enoshima’s eye. She didn’t even notice. She was too busy trying to adjust to the daylight, and shake the cobwebs from her mind. Her brain felt fuzzy and she felt like . . .

She felt . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like she had woken from a very long sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Naegi finds out what Ultimate Despair had in mind for him.


	54. The Battle Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this pattern I seem to be getting into of rewriting massive sections the day I'm supposed to post. It's made this chapter the longest in the story so far.

Kuzuryu never found what they were looking for. He stormed back into the room where Naegi and Kamukura were, red-faced. Kuzuryu pulled at his eyepatch a little; it was almost the same motion he used when tipping his fedora. When Soda and Pekoyama also entered, Kuzuryu huffed and crossed his arms.

“Do we keep looking?” Soda asked nervously.

“Fuck if I know.” A muscle in Kuzuryu’s neck pulsed. “I have no fucking clue how you lose something like _that._ I mean we could go for a substitute part, but the good stuff’s already been claimed and . . .”

Pekoyama spoke up. “Young Master, please allow me to inspect the remains for a suitable replacement.”

“Yeah, sure. Go do that.” Distracted, Kuzuryu waved Pekoyama off.

As the Swordswoman left the room, Naegi raised his hand. “Uh, sorry, but what did you guys lose?”

Everyone stared at him.

“It was kinda supposed to be a surprise,” Soda said.

“A surprise. . .? You mean, for me?”

“Yeah.”

He shouldn’t ask. He should let it drop right now. ( _ ~~Komaeda always called them surprises~~_ ). Why did it matter, what they had been planning to give him . . .?

Against the warning siren in his head, he asked anyways.

Kuzuryu walked over. He looked Naegi over from head to toe, as if appraising him. Then, a single hand snapped up, making Naegi wince. Kuzuryu smirked, and one of his fingers wiggled its way under his eyepatch. That one finger tugged, straining the eyepatch against the band holding it in place, rotating it upwards. Curious, Naegi leaned in to take a closer look –

What was that?

What the _hell_ was that?

Blue looked at him from underneath the eyepatch. Blue with a sclera cloudy with red blotches; it was like looking at exposed flesh. And as if that hadn’t been enough for its host, a small trail of blood ran downwards from the tear duct, ending abruptly where the edge of the eyepatch laid. Yet it was the clear blue iris that was the scariest part, for it was in such stark contrast with the other eye on Kuzuryu’s face.

“Kuzuryu-kun, you. . .”

And Kuzuryu smiled. He smiled a terrible, terrible smile.

“I’ll see the world as she does now,” he said in a whisper. “Enoshima-san is part of me. Forever.”

Naegi backed away. He was staring at the – the evidence lay right before him – but he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ accept this. It had to be a prank. Kuzuryu wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t . . . gouge out his eye . . . stuff Enoshima’s back in in place of his. That was insane. It had to be a misunderstanding.

He tripped, landing on his back. He continued moving backwards until there was nowhere to run.

Kuzuryu advanced slowly. He waited until he had Naegi cornered and then dropped down to one knee. Naegi didn’t like the smile Kuzuryu gave him; calm, curious, like a cat toying with its prey before devouring it. A finger snaked out and pressed down on Naegi’s half-closed eyelid like a red-hot poker and itched, but Naegi couldn’t bring himself to move away.

Hollowly, Kuzuryu said, “This shouldn’t be here.”

The wall pushed back against his back. “I-it’s my eye. It’s mine. It belongs there –”

“This shouldn’t be here,” Kuzuryu said again.

There was no more denying what Kuzuryu had done to himself. Nor could he deny what Kuzuryu would have done – still wanted to do – to him. His sob was a prolonged, piercing whine. All over again, he wanted to tug at his hair until it hurt. Only Kuzuryu’s finger, paralysing with its touch, stopped him from rocking back and forth.

“We’ll find it,” Kuzuryu vowed. “Then, you’ll understand. You’ll understand what Enoshima-san taught us. Don’t worry, Naegi. It’ll be _amazing_.”

Something beeped in Kuzuryu’s pocket. The Yakuza stood and walked away, leaving Naegi against the wall. Naegi wanted to run, _( ~~hide under the bed~~_ ) but he couldn’t bring himself to stand. He brought his knees up to his chest, and buried his face in them ( _ ~~hid his eyes~~_ ). Every time he shifted enough so that he could see light again, the world spun and he felt dizzy.

Someone cleared their throat.

“Uh, hey Naegi-kun,” Soda said. The Mechanic who was on one knee before him. “It’s like . . . it’s not that bad, you know. It looks bad, but Kuzuryu-kun didn’t scream or anything when it was happening. He was laughing the entire time, so it couldn’t have been too awful. And, uh, it was quick. It only took a couple of minutes in total, tops! Everyone else was laughing while they were getting their parts, too.”

_Everyone else . . .?_

His back ached from how tense he was. “Did you . . .?”

_He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t dare let his imagination run wild –_

“Me? Nah. I didn’t do anything like that. I . . .” Soda looked over his shoulder at Kuzuryu, who was talking on his phone. Then, he dropped his voice. “I’m not sure why I didn’t. It just. . . it just felt kinda weird.”

“You didn’t do anything to yourself?” Naegi whimpered.

“No, I didn’t.”

It was almost enough. It was almost what he needed to hear. But then Kuzuryu shifted, and drew Naegi’s attention. And he remembered. Soda had been here. Soda had heard Kuzuryu’s plans, and he hadn’t protested. He was okay with it. He _wanted_ Naegi to get Enoshima’s eye.

The walls began to close in. This was what they wanted. This was what Ultimate Despair wanted from him. How could he . . .? They were going to find it. They were going to implant her eye into him. And nobody was going to say anything . . .

Nobody. . . nobody but Komaeda . . . and Kamukura, who had brought him back out here ( _Why? Why would you do that -?_ )

Pekoyama burst into the room.

“Master, the body!”

“What about it?” Kuzuryu said carefully. It already clear that whatever Pekoyama’s news was, it wasn’t good –

“It’s on fire!”

* * *

 

Naegi didn’t follow the three back to the chapel. Nidai ended up tracking him down instead, and carrying him there. When they arrived, Owari was furiously beating the last of the flames out with the doll that looked like Ikusaba. ( _Naegi looked away; he didn’t dare look at any of them to see what awaited him_ ) It was obvious though, that it was too late. What remained of Enoshima’s body was a blackened husk.

“Fuck!” Kuzuryu stomped around the altar, waving a gun over his head. “Why the fuck did you come get me? Why didn’t you put it out yourself first?”

“Young Master, please!” Pekoyama said, “The fire was already established when I made that decision. I thought it more prudent to seek help–”

“And you were fucking wrong! As always. You’re a fucking idiot, Peko! And you. . . you . . .”

Kuzuryu clicked the safety off.

He pointed the gun straight at Pekoyama’s chest.

“You . . . you bitch . . . “ His swirling eye blazed red as the gun shook in his grip. Naegi, from where he watched, could almost picture a dark haze of despair surrounding him. “Thanks to you, it’s all ruined. Enoshima-san is . . .”

 _Is this really happening?_ It didn’t feel like it. It felt like a dream. It felt if he tried, if he simply willed this to stop happening, it would and he would wake.

But it wasn’t a dream, and he was reminded of that when Kuzuryu made some kind of breathy, shrill laugh ( _like Komaeda on a bad day_ ). This was real, that gun in his hand was real, and the threat closing in around Pekoyama was also real.

He stepped forward, keeping his eyes trained on Kuzuryu so he saw nobody else.

“We should burn you, too,” Kuzuryu said. “You know, in the old days, they had it all figured out. They stacked the wood so you didn’t die straight away. You burned inch by inch instead, and felt _every second_.”

He was strung so tight inside. His left eye, the eye they wanted to replace, was throbbing. It was like Enoshima’s eye was already a part of him, leaking poison with every heartbeat, staining his vision a crimson red. He could almost feel it crushing him, telling him to bow, to let this be because Pekoyama wouldn’t have helped him –

( _No . . . it doesn’t matter_ )

He felt like a volcano ready to explode. There was so much pressure inside. Looking at Kuzuryu, at that golden eyepatch only made it worse . . .

( _That’s not who I am!_ )

He laughed.

It felt so, so good. Each giggle released some of the pressure inside, until his organs felt like the right size again and he could _breathe_. Ultimate Despair stared at him in shock.

“Sorry, but it’s . . . it’s funny, isn’t it?” ( _His eyes were wide and nearly bloodshot as he smiled, but nobody seemed to notice_ ). “You guys had this really nice tribute planned, but then it was ruined by a freak accident. I bet Enoshima-san would think that was amazing! I bet her ghost was the one who sabotaged her own funeral, for the despair!”

“D-despair?” Hanamura said slowly. Without meaning to, Naegi looked in his direction. However, all he saw was that Hanamura had a black eye.

“Of course!” Naegi said. “Isn’t it super despairful that everything was ruined? It’s perfect! It’s exactly what she would have wanted!”

“But her body was desecrated-!”

“She turned one of her friends into butter,” Naegi said. ( _His smile cracked around the edges_ ).

“But your eye –”

His face twitched. “We came _so_ close to making everything run perfectly, and then it was ruined! And of all the people to not get a piece of her, it was me! Her family! Isn’t that horrible? It’s exactly what she would have wanted. Enoshima-san wouldn’t have wanted me to take her eye. There’s more despair this way. It’s perfect! I don’t need anything from her!”

His voice became more and more hysteric, and by the time he finished, he could feel the strange look the Imposter and Nevermind gave him –

“The fire was probably set by the Future Foundation,” Pekoyama said.

A hiss went around the room.

Owari shouted, “Those bastards!”

“I was afraid something like this may happen,” Nevermind said.

And _finally_ , Kuzuryu lowered his gun. “You sure about that?”

Pekoyama said, “Yes.”

The room exploded into a frenzy.

“Look, we’re not beat yet!” Kuzuryu said. “We got spare coffins. We pretend she’s in there, jump to the cremation, burn it, and pretend the Future Foundation torched a decoy. But we got to do it now, before those bastards get the word out, so everyone thinks they’re lying.”

“Got it! I’ll go set up,” Koizumi said before she ran off.

Nidai asked, “Err, guys? What about Komaeda?”

Silence.

“We’re going to have to get him, aren’t we?” Soda said. “Guy’s nuts, but even I’m not cruel enough to make him miss the cremation.”

“Thanks for volunteering!” Owari said.

“Huh? W-wait!”

Soda was shoved outside by the Gymnast. Naegi could only think of one thing: Kamukura wasn’t here, and Soda was going to fetch Komaeda ~~one of the only ones he could trust~~.

Naegi stumbled after the Mechanic. The last thing he heard from the others was someone shouting to call Tsumiki.

“You’re coming along?” Soda said as Naegi caught up.

Naegi blinked. “They locked Komaeda-kun in a cell.”

“Yeah, we didn’t really have a choice.” Soda grimaced. “Komaeda’s like an alley cat when he gets mad. He nailed Hanamura-kun in the face before Nidai grabbed him.”

Naegi asked, “Were you really going to let him take my eye?”

“What? Hey, it’s not like that. It’s like . . . it’s like fixing up an old vehicle so that it runs better! You woulda been able to see things like she did! Or something. I’m not too sure what Kuzuryu and Nevermind said.”

Naegi reached up and touched his eye. He. . . he almost lost it. He’d come that close to losing it, and getting _that_ shoved in instead –

It was too much. Ignoring Soda’s shout, he ripped away from the Mechanic and took off. He heard Soda running after him, and that only made him push that much harder, move that much faster. The route to his destination burned behind his eyes in lines of fire. He ran and ran, and the door came into view and he reached –

He burst into the prison, and fell to the floor in front of Komaeda’s cell. Komaeda instantly snapped to attention, and crawled up to the cell door, eyes wide with fear and concern . . .

Then, the door opened again.

Panting, Soda leaned against the entryway. “Since when do you run so fast?”

Somehow, the Mechanic completely missed the mood. He strode forward, pulling a ring of keys out of his pocket and stuck one into the lock of Komaeda’s cell. Komaeda, for his part, had gone very still; like a cat watching a mouse hole. With a twist of Soda’s wrist, the cell door opened –

Komaeda sprung

He slammed Soda into a wall and before Soda could do more than yelp, those pale hands were aiming for the Mechanic’s throat. But Soda’s arm was there, preventing the choke, though that didn’t stop Komaeda from scratching and clawing, from trying to literally burrow through Soda’s arm to the jugular below. Naegi was frozen, watching as the two crashed to the ground, as Komaeda scrambled on top and Soda managed to get a hand on his chin. Then, the positions reversed, and Soda was slamming Komaeda into the ground, wringing out painful-sounding coughs.

“What the hell?” Soda demanded. He was rubbing an oozing gash on his cheek.

Eyes burning with a fevered light, Komaeda snarled. “Stay away from Naegi-kun!”

Soda’s eyes widened as he figured out the trigger. “Is this about the eye? He called it off. We lost the frigging eye, so Kuzuryu called it off.”

The storm behind those eyes didn’t vanish. It merely plateaued. “Where’s your proof?”

“. . . Uh, we can’t find it? Look, we’re about to start the cremation. I’m not going to drag you there, but . . . Naegi-kun has to go! I’ll call the entire Monokuma army on you if you try to get in the way.”

For a tense, few seconds, neither side gave way.

Naegi quietly said, “Komaeda-kun, I think he’s telling the truth.”

That seemed enough to disarm him. Naegi could see the aggressiveness seep out of Komaeda’s body, although the look he gave Soda was still hostile. He shuffled over to Naegi’s side, placing himself firmly between Naegi and Soda.

“. . . So, are you coming?” Soda asked.

Teeth clenched, Komaeda nodded.

As they began to leave, Komaeda spoke into Naegi's ear.

"Don't trust them. Stay close. I'll keep you safe."

* * *

Tsumiki stumbled inside. She knew this place, knew this walls . . . yet at the same time, she didn’t. It was like visiting a place you only knew from a dream. The colours were less vibrant than she remembered, the lighting darker, and every so often, her head would ache and the world would narrow and zoom crazily like she was viewing the world through a telescope. She was using the wall for support, her body too weak for her to stand normally.

She saw movement.

She gasped without meaning to. A tremor wracked her body and she didn’t understand why. She looked all around but she couldn’t see anything. It must have been her imagination.

No, wait. There it was. It was a long figure with long hair that was steadily approaching –

Kamukura stood in front of her, frowning. There was a crease on his brow.

“K-Kamu . . . Kamukura-kun!” It wasn’t just nerves making her stutter; her vocal chords didn’t seem to be working right . . .

Kamukura suddenly grabbed her chin. He yanked it up sharply and studied her face closely. His grip was tight, not allowing her to look away, and he just stared and stared . . .

His eyes widened.

He released her suddenly, and she fell back against the wall. She panted as if he had just forced her to run on a treadmill.

“. . . You’ll need these.”

He pressed a small box into her hands and walked off. Fingers trembling, Tsumiki opened it.

It was a pair of red contacts.

* * *

“He had a rough day, didn’t he?” Komaeda murmured.

“Yes. He was very troubled by Kuzuryu-kun’s plans.”

“If they had actually gone through with that . . .” Komaeda’s hand curled into a fist over his heart. “They still can’t see it. He’s Hope. He’s the brightest light that exists on this planet. To even think about injecting him with that kind of poison . . . I can’t. I’ll throw up if I think about it anymore.”

“Y-you shouldn’t talk about her like that,” Tsumiki mumbled.

“But I’m right!” Komaeda cried. “To try and combine the greatest hope and despair, it’s like trying to mix fire and ice! And do you know what happens when you do that?”

“Umm. . .”

“They destroy each other,” Komaeda said flatly. He spun around, seeming to need to reassure himself that Naegi was still there and unharmed. “To try and graft a part of Enoshima onto him. . . to let their blood mix like that. . . it’d kill him.”

Something hard wedged in her throat. Words bubbled up; she almost told him right then and there what she had done to the eye. But in the nick of time, she remembered what she had been told and managed to change those words to, “I’m glad you told him to hide before it happened.”

“. . . Right.”

“I would have liked Pekoyama-san to stay one more night.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Komaeda said tonelessly. “She’s gone back to Kuzuryu-kun, and Naegi-kun moves into his new room tomorrow. He’s not going to be restricted to a bed anymore.”

She smiled slightly. “Oh, I hope he’s looking forward to that.”

Komaeda grunted. He stood at the end of Naegi’s bed, staring down at the sleeping teen. As if he could sense he was the center of attention, Naegi whimpered. His leg kicked; his back arched a little as if he was in pain.

“. . . He really is perfect.”

Tsumiki said, “H-huh? Sorry?”

Komaeda blinked, and the motion seemed to send a shockwave through his body. For a moment, he didn’t seem to know where he was. He laughed, but it was a high, nervous sound.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to. . . It’s nothing important.”

Komaeda smiled at her. His stance was strong and steady, but a nurse was nothing if not observant, and Tsumiki could tell that he was both breathing too deeply, and too quickly.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fine. Just. . . a bit of a headache.” Komaeda tried to laugh, but choked instead. A bead of sweat ran down his temple.

“There’s medicine for that in the back,” Tsumiki said.

She waited, but Komaeda never answered. His eyes were distant, staring at something only he could see.

Tsumiki said, “Umm, I’ll go get some!”

She was only gone for a couple of minutes, but that had been enough time for Komaeda to move. Before he had been at the foot of the bed; now, he had moved up to where Naegi’s head laid. There was a chair not far behind him, but Komaeda was standing anyways. He really shouldn’t have been though, because his eyes were tightly closed and he was using the bedrail to support himself. She thrust the medicine bottle into his chest, but he waved her off.

She was about to say something, but there was a popping sound.

Kuma popped again. The bear had been hanging out in the back before, but at some point, he had drawn closer. He was approaching them now, ears flat against his head. Before either of them could move, Kuma lunged – for the length of once pounce – and slapped his paws against the ground. That was enough for Tsumiki to leap back and trip over Komaeda’s feet.

“K-Kuma?”

Kuma backed off. Only to charge and slap the ground again. Tsumiki squeaked and hid behind Komaeda. But Komaeda? Komaeda didn’t even seem to notice.

“I don’t think he’ll hurt you,” Komaeda said dully. “Tanaka-kun wouldn’t have forgot to teach him something that obvious.”

Oh, yes. That was probably true. Oh, if Tanaka knew what she had been thinking, he’d be so mad at her! Though she trembled all over, she approached the bear. Kuma popped again, but he did back up when she got too close.

“Kuma? Is something wrong?”

She wished he could speak. Kuma was clearly agitated, but she didn’t understand why. Tanaka would probably know, but he couldn’t speak either . . . oh, but he could communicate in other ways! But she didn’t want to leave when Kuma was acting so strangely and Naegi was fast asleep. She stepped away from the bear, turned sideways so she could still see him, and was about to ask Komaeda for his opinion –

His swirling, red eyes focused on her. “He moves into his own room tomorrow. It’s obvious why, isn’t it?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Haven’t you figured it out?” Komaeda asked, head tilting to one side. “It’s a trap. When he was here, it was easy for me to keep an eye on him. You couldn’t spirit him away so easily. But now. . . now it’s too easy. If a certain body part were to suddenly be found, it would be so easy to get him alone . . .”

“I . . . they wouldn’t do that.”

Komaeda sneered. “Of course, you would say that. You’re one of them. You’re probably the one they consulted.”

“I’m n-not . . .”

The red in his eyes only burned brighter. “And when they find it, you’ll be the one to –”

“N-no, it’s gone! They can’t!”

It was only five words, but Tsumiki knew she had given herself away. Komaeda’s mouth dropped open. He mouthed those last two words to himself. Tsumiki took a step back, holding herself, not knowing how Komaeda would react.

“You did that for him?” he said softly. Slowly, he began to smile.

The tiniest bit reassured, she nodded.

Komaeda smiled fully.

 “Tsumiki-san . . . do we have a quarantine room?”

Huh?

“We d-don’t have a room for that in particular,” she said. “But, umm, if we have to, we could probably make one. . .”

“Do you think. . . do you think you could make something up? Just to give us a little more time?”

“You mean pretend he’s sick?” she said. “But that’s not –”

“Just for a little while,” Komaeda said. “A few weeks, maybe. That’s it. Just say he has a little bug. . . and that I caught it from him, and you can take care of us. It’ll be him and me, and you when you come around. No Pekoyama-san this time. It’ll be perfect.”

“That doesn’t. . . It’s not right.” It wasn’t right. She knew that for certain. “We shouldn’t restrict him to a bed, o-or a room even longer. . .”

“We have to!” Komaeda insisted. “You see it, don’t you? Even if the eye is gone, that doesn’t change what almost happened. They can’t be trusted. We can’t trust them with him! We need . . . we need . . . I need to make sure Naegi-kun knows who to be loyal to.”

 “K-Komaeda-kun –!”

“We won’t have to share him anymore.” Komaeda stepped towards her. “And we’ll make sure he –”

Tsumiki was not a strong person. Komaeda wasn’t strong either, but at least the Luckster was willing to use what strength he had when it counted. Thus, it was more shock that made Komaeda step back, and not the push on his chest.

Tsumiki quickly drew her arms back. “You sh-should go.”

“. . . Sorry?”

“I think you should leave.” Nervous, she turned around and began smoothing out Naegi’s covers, just for something to occupy her hands with.

“I don’t understand,” Komaeda said.

“It’s. . . it’s not right. It’s cruel. It’s . . . bullying!”

Komaeda was silent.

“I’m offering you a chance to get in on this,” Komaeda said. “I don’t need you, you know.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “It’s not right!”

“. . . Don’t stand in my way, Tsumiki.”

She opened her eyes.

Komaeda’s swirling red eyes glowed like hellfire.

“K-Komaeda-kun!”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to help, but don’t get in my way.”

He stepped forward –

“No!” She scrambled backwards until she was flush against the bedrail, and threw her arms out as wide as she could. “No –!”

Two things happened, then. Kuma slammed his paws down in the little bit of space between her and Komaeda, making the Luckster jump back.

And the infirmary’s door opened and someone walked inside.

Being trained in the profession that she was, Pekoyama immediately detected something wasn’t right. Hand on her sword, she strode over briskly. “Is something wrong?”

“. . . N-no,” Tsumiki said.

Pekoyama didn’t looked convinced. Her hand remained on her sword. But Komaeda was blinking rapidly and for the first time that day, he seemed unsure.

“M-Makoto just went to bed!” Tsumiki said. “We were getting ready, too.”

“I see. Then, I take it Komaeda is leaving?” Pekoyama said.

Komaeda didn’t answer. His grey eyes looked straight ahead with a vague, dazed look.

“Komaeda-kun?”

“Yes . . . Yes. I think I should leave,” he said softly.

The door opened and closed. Komaeda was gone. Kuma side-eyed Pekoyama and then pointedly looked away from her.

“Umm, Pekoyama-san, sorry for asking, but why are you here?”

The Swordswoman took some time before answering. “I thought it would be wise to check on you. It is the first day that Naegi-kun is without a human bodyguard. If . . . someone had been waiting for an opportunity, I thought it was likely they would attempt something tonight.”

“. . . Oh.”

As one, it seemed, the two women and one bear looked at the door Komaeda had exited through.

“Tsumiki-san. . .”

“Yes.”

“. . . Be careful.”

With those last words, Pekoyama began to follow Komaeda out the door. She was stopped though, by the soft utterance of her name. She turned. Tsumiki was hugging herself, face shadowed and forlorn.

“Can. . . can I ask you something?” Tsumiki said.

Pekoyama inclined her chin. “What is it?”

“. . . Do you promise you’ll answer honestly.”

“If you want me to.”

“Enoshima-san. . . did she ever love me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Civil War arc.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi moves into his new room and things calm down because these last three chapters have been a roller coaster.


	55. The Damage Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: I THOUGHT IT WAS WEDNESDAY!
> 
> well too late now. have fun guys

“Moving day, huh?”

“Isn’t it exciting?” Tsumiki said. “You’ll finally have a room all to yourself again.”

“Yeah,” he said dully, remembering the eerily familiar room. He wasn’t sure how to feel about this, for on one hand, he would finally be free again; but on the other hand, he would be sleeping in that room whose décor he associated with another time.

“Do you have everything?”

Clutching his stuffed rabbit, Naegi said, “I didn’t really have anything here to begin with.”

He called Kuma over, and then the three of them went on his way. Naegi had hesitated for a second, looking for Pekoyama, before he remembered that she was no longer assigned to him. It was a little upsetting, but it’s not like she had moved away. He’d see her around.

As they walked, he fell behind Tsumiki so he could walk with Kuma. He reached over, looped his arm over the bear’s neck, and turned his face into the fur.

“It’s going to be weird staying there,” Naegi said. “It’s my room. Like, my room from _before_. It’s not . . . it’s kind of scary, when I think about it. They’re not supposed to know that much about what I was like back then. I mean, I get that they’ve decided I’m part of their family, but it’s just. . . it feels like an invasion of privacy, somehow.”

Kuma did not answer.

They reached the trapdoor. Unlike everyone else’s rooms, Naegi’s new room was underground. Apparently, now that all the Despairs were in one place, both Kuzuryu and Nevermind were paranoid about being attacked – with bombers being their greatest concern. Apparently, they had deemed it safer for Naegi to stay underground.

The room, while still decorated like pre-Hope’s Peak room, wasn’t quite the same as he remembered it. Ultimate Despair had taken the time to spread around the items they had collected from his home. Stuffed animals jostled for space on either side of the pillows. The first shelf of the bookcase next to the bed had been filled – though Naegi could see that more than one of the books were damaged. A poster of Hope’s Peak – he’d bought it in an emotional moment a couple of days after he’d been accepted – lay upon the right wall. They hadn’t had the time to carve an opening into a wall for a closet, so they’d given him a dresser he hadn’t owned back then.

“Do you like it?” Tsumiki asked.

He turned. She was looking at him so earnestly that he knew he couldn’t tell the truth. Well, for that reason, and because he expected Ultimate Despair would be upset if he admitted he was creeped out.

Speaking of the others, he was glad that of all people, it was Tsumiki with him (although Komaeda would have been okay). He’d watched her all morning, studied every inch of her that he could see, and as far as he could tell, she hadn’t replaced any of her body parts like Kuzuryu had. The others. . . he had done his best not to look or remember, but he still occasionally saw flashes of manicured nails and motionless eyes when he let his guard down.

_~~A cast of shadows acted out their roles in his mind. Tall, leering figures, staring at him from above. That eye, in colour unlike the rest, was held in delicate hands as Ultimate Despair’s Nurse stoked his face and prepped the syringe –~~ _

But, now wasn’t the time to get distracted.

“It’s perfect,” he lied. He fit a smile onto his face and it didn’t feel the least bit fake. “Really, thanks for doing all this. I can only imagine how much work it took.”

“Umm, you would have to ask the others. I didn’t bring in any of this. They did and I know it took them a while because . . . some things are h-hard to find now. The world . . . it’s v-very different than how it used to be.”

Her voice grew more distant as she spoke. Her hand rested on the frame of Naegi’s new bed, gripping it lightly. She was no longer looking at him, no longer speaking to him. Whatever she was saying, it was about something bigger than him.

“Mikan . . .?”

She jumped. “B-but I’m glad they finished your room, because you couldn’t stay in a hospital bed forever. That wouldn’t be very nice.”

 “. . . Right,” he said.

Tsumiki was about to say something –

“You moved him already? I thought you were going to do it in an hour.”

Komaeda was at the bottom of the stairs, looking around. Naegi quickly looked the older teen over from head to toe, making sure he was the same, that he hadn’t gone and replaced one of his body parts while he hadn’t been looking. ( _But Komaeda wouldn’t do that, right? Not him. Never him. Not when he had been the one to stand up to Despair, not when he was so willing to throw himself down for Naegi’s sake – )_

“Oh. . . I didn’t think there was any reason to wait,” Tsumiki said.

Naegi couldn’t quite place the tension he could taste. Though whatever it was, he was sure that it hadn’t been there yesterday. He cleared his throat, drawing attention and snapping them out of whatever trance had consumed them.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Komaeda walked past him, and stopped in front of a blank section of wall. “Now that you have an empty wall. . .”

The Luckster whipped out a roll of tape and a piece of paper, and then taped the paper to the wall.

“. . . We can start making your Hope Wall again!”

“Uh, is that your hope poem?” Naegi asked, already dreading the answer.

“What else would it be?”

He groaned.

They didn’t stay long after that. Komaeda loudly announced that they should leave him be so that he could organize his room to his liking, and Tsumiki agreed. They filed out one after another, waving to him as they did.

He heard the distant boom of the trapdoor. It was just him now. He was alone.

He blinked.

He was . . . alone?

When was the last time he had been alone? He racked his brain for answers. The last time. . . it had probably been during that domino of events that had catapulted him into the situation where they needed to restrain him in the first place. He was alone now. He could have lots of alone time if he wanted to.

But there was one problem with that.

He didn’t know what to do.

He looked around his new room, suddenly panicky. Komaeda had suggested that he could rearrange things if he wanted to, but had he meant it? Was that what he was supposed to do? Or maybe he wasn’t supposed to stay at all. Maybe he was supposed to follow them and they were waiting at the top, timing how long it took. . . It could be a test. He didn’t know. The instructions had been too unclear.

He reminded himself to breathe. Not that it helped much. His chest muscles were cramping, and his lungs burned as if he were running at top speed. The relative blankness of the surrounding walls seemed to mock him. The world swayed as his brain was wracked with indecision. . .

Kuma pressed his snout into Naegi’s hand.

He breathed through his nose. In. Out. Yes, that was right. Kuma was here. He wasn’t alone. He scratched Kuma behind the ears and leaned against his body.

Yes, that was right. Here, under Ultimate Despair’s roof . . .

. . . He was never really alone.

* * *

The office was dark. The blinds had been half-lowered in the windows, even though the sun outside was close to waning. Statue-like in his stillness, Munakata’s eyes were closed as he waited in his chair. His head was supported by his arms, and his spine sagged and arched. A cellphone sat on the desk before him, shining with the last light of the latest message. Yet, he made no move to read it. Instead, Munakata remained still until there was a click, and the door to his office creaked open.

“Chisa,” he said hoarsely, not needing to open his eyes. He knew Yukizome was the only person Sakakura would let pass during a time like this.

Her heels clicked against the ground as she walked towards him. A warm, gentle hand rested on his shoulder, and he heaved a great sigh in response.

“They’ve quelled the riots in the nearby cities,” she said softly, as if afraid her words could break him.

His lips thinned. “What’s the damage?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be at least a couple of weeks before we can say.”

He opened his eyes. “That long?”

“. . . I’m counting desertions among the damages.”

He fought not to flinch. Yes, that was right. Desertions would be a big problem within the next weeks. The Survivor Six had been beloved by non-despairs around the world, but none so more than Naegi Makoto. He, the Ultimate Hope, the one who had conquered despair in its rawest form. He, the world’s hero, who had quite the collection of admirers (The Naegi Cultists, as Sakakura snidely called them). It was no secret that recruitment had gone up drastically in the wake of Enoshima’s defeat. It was also well-known to him that many of them had joined due to the fervour Naegi’s victory had caused or, more alarmingly, out of misguided loyalty to the world’s Ultimate Hope. It was natural, then, that seeing Naegi healthy and alive within Despair’s hands, and apparently outright _mourning_ their enemy would cause some to desert. Even worse, he feared some of them might maintain their devotion to their alleged Hope, and end up defecting.

“What about the cities beyond those limits?” he asked.

“Most are still ongoing. We hope to subdue the rest in the interior before tomorrow. But the ones in the outer areas will take longer to reach. Not to mention the riots outside the country.”

He buried his head in his hands. He felt so _weak_. Here he was, leading the world’s last bastion of hope; an organization that spanned the globe and had thousands upon thousands of agents. Yet, it seemed that all it took was a less than five minute speech from an ignorant fool to render him powerless.  Naegi, truly, was terrifying. Ultimate Despair as well, seeing as they obviously understood how to use their captive. He’d been alarmed when the scouts started reporting that Ultimate Despair were amassing at their headquarters; it was rarely a good thing when Despairs gathered together. Clearly, he’d been right to be worried.

“Juzo wants to know if you want to give Ando-san’s plan the go-ahead,” Yukizome said.

“Remind me, which one is that?”

“The one where we pretend that Naegi-kun was a Despair agent this entire time, and the Killing Game was a plot to try and open a way for him to infiltrate the Future Foundation.”

“. . . We may have to,” Munakata admitted.

Yukizome watched him. “But you don’t want to.”

Munakata leaned back. “Do you remember that teenager Division 5 picked up in sector G7?”

“You mean Mootori Koji?”

“I interviewed him myself. Do you know why we found him so close to Ultimate Despair’s headquarters?” Munakata shifted uncomfortably. “He claims he was kidnapped and taken there.”

Yukizome gaped. “But he’s –”

“Alive? Yes, that is unusual. Mootori credits Naegi with his survival and what’s more, I have yet to see any indication that he was being dishonest. If he were honest, then that would suggest that not only is Naegi not a Despair agent, but he has managed to maintain some semblance of sanity.” Munakata’s words took on a darker edge as he said, “It is possible that Naegi is Despair and he released that captive to fool us, but I can’t figure out a motive as to why.”

Yukizome sighed. She sat on the edge of Munakata’s desk, not looking at him as she spoke. “I can see what you’re saying. In some ways, it would be worse if he wasn’t Despair.”

Munakata was silent.

She kicked her feet. “But I don’t think we should discard the idea of a traitor entirely. I’ve been thinking about it and. . . what if we’ve been focusing on the wrong people?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Explain.”

“We’ve been focusing on Naegi-kun, Kirigiri-san, and Togami-kun. But if you believe Naegi-kun isn’t a mole. . . then maybe arranging his capture was part of the mole’s agenda. I might be remembering incorrectly, but wasn’t Hagakure-kun supposed to be with him when Komaeda attacked? And it is awfully convenient that Asahina-san set off a landmine that destroyed Kirigiri-san’s trail.”

“. . . That is all true.”

“It’s something to consider,” Yukizome said. She hopped off the desk. “But I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure you’ll do what’s best in the end!”

Yukizome said her goodbyes. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Munakata in the otherwise empty room. The leader of the Future Foundation stared at the closed door for a while, then sagged as he felt the pressures of the world closing in.

* * *

 

Naegi carefully wiggled out the photo of him and Maizono from the album, and then grabbed the roll of tape that had been left behind. The picture soon joined the collection on the wall. He’d figured that if Komaeda was that intent on starting his Hope Wall up again, he should act quickly to make it _his_. Heaven forbid Komaeda decide the Hope Wall looked too empty, and make another poem to add substance.

There were a lot of pictures of him and Maizono, he noticed. Him and Asahina, too, along with Kuwata. Surprisingly, he had apparently posed with Ishimaru a lot, too. He wished he knew whether that was due to them being close, or just because those guys liked taking pictures. In a way, he kind of wished for both. He wanted to have been close to his classmates, of course, but the latter would explain why there were so few pictures of him with people like Togami and Kirigiri.

With regards to Class 77, they didn’t appear all that much, especially not as the main focus. Mioda, however, appeared to have quite the knack for photobombing. She could be seen diving across the background of the photos in almost 10% of them, and he wondered if she had done that to everyone, or just him. He’d like to think it was just him, but it wasn’t like he had been Hope back then.

Nanami though. . . he glanced at the tabletop that held those pictures. There weren’t too many of them, but they had been able to tell him something. Apparently, he and Nanami really, really liked their hoodies. They wore the same ones in every photo, and they _always_ pulled the hood up! Nanami’s hood had these cute little animal ears on it, too, and it made him shiver and wish longingly for something that would cover him more thoroughly. He’d changed out of his scrubs into a plain shirt and jeans, but he was still missing that last part . . .

He stared at the closet. He’d seen it in there. He’d ignored it until now. But his skin was prickling with cold and the photos he had been staring at made him feel almost naked . . .

Without thinking, he walked over to the closet and opened it up.

It was waiting where he had stuffed it in the back. That damn hoodie. Whether it was the same one he had worn here, or another taken from his house, he didn’t know. He _could_ know, of course. All he had to do was check the back, look for that ratty strip . . . But he couldn’t do it. His chest tightened when he thought about it and when he reached for it, his arm jerked back and refused to make contact. He chewed on air.

But he was cold and lonely.

Somehow, he managed to grab the sleeve. His arm shook so badly that the vibration ran up the fabric and made the hoodie jiggle on its hanger. He. . . he . . . he gasped . . . he couldn’t bring himself to look. Maybe. . . maybe he didn’t need to. He didn’t usually see the back of his hoodie, right? He could put it on without looking, without checking whether it was the same one.

Trembling, he draped it over himself. Rather than make him warmer, the hoodie felt like slimy cold against his warm flesh. He had to fight to breathe. It felt like he was wrapping a chain around his neck, and twisting it. But that was silly. It was a hoodie. It wouldn’t hurt him.

His vision blurred as he stared at his arm. Just a hoodie. Just a piece of cloth.

But for some reason, he couldn't resist bringing it up to his noise and inhaling –

His stomach lurched. There was no washroom, but there was a wastebasket by the desk, and he scrambled over to that and collapsed beside it. The sickness came at him in waves, and he spat up mouthfuls of bile that lingered and stained his throat. By the time it was over, he was crying.

Kuma stuck his nose into his face.

Naegi slunk over, fitting himself between the bear’s paws, and underneath the chin. The hoodie hadn’t warmed him, but Kuma was very warm. He tore the hoodie off, and threw it aside; it landed in a crumpled heap underneath the bed. Kuma was very warm, very soft, very patient as Naegi turned into him and sobbed into his fur.

“What’s wrong with me?” he whimpered. A piece of clothing, his favourite clothing, shouldn’t bother him so much. Yet that thing had left scars as deep as any made by a knife and even now, he shivered as he imagined it touching him.

Kuma did not answer.

“I don’t . . . I don’t know who I am, anymore.”

Kuma’s nose poked the back of his neck.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. His breathing began to settle. Naegi leaned backwards into that thick coat of fur, laid his head against that powerful chest. Kuma’s heartbeat was steady and strong.

“I’m Naegi Makoto,” he mumbled to himself. “I’m the Ultimate Hope. My favourite animals are bears. I . . . I survived the Killing Game and defeated the Ultimate Despair. I. . . I . . .”

And for what seemed to be no reason whatsoever, he started to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi kind of actually gets a break this time.


	56. The Posters

There was a knock on the trapdoor.

“Oh, Naegi-kun!”

Naegi shuffled out of bed, the rabbit still under his arm as he dully shouted, “Come in!”

Komaeda did. He bounced down the steps, grin as wide as ever. He nodded with approval at the revised Hope Wall, oddly at ease despite the downtrodden body language of the room’s resident.

“Somebody’s been hard at work,” Komaeda said. “I’m actually here to grab you for dinner, but before we go –”

There was a squeak. Then a series of crashes and bangs as _someone_ tumbled down the stairs.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tsumiki cried. She was crumpled on the ground, face down, legs trailing up the angle of the stairs behind her.

“Mikan!” Naegi rushed over, fretting as he crouched by her prone body. Komaeda stepped forward, but made no move to help her get up.

“Ah, Tsumiki-san. What are you doing here?”

She looked up at him with round eyes. “M-me? I was coming to get Makoto for dinner.”

To Naegi, this seemed like a perfectly reasonable response, but Komaeda didn’t seem to think so. His posture was stiff as he said, “I told you guys I would get him.”

“Oh, y-yes, you did . . . But I wanted to see what he had done with his room!”

“You couldn’t check after dinner?”

“I. . . um . . .”

Naegi patted Komaeda’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Now I get to hang out with my two most favourite people! So, what did you want to do before we left?”

Komaeda still seemed to be watching Tsumiki from the corner of his eye, but he was smiling at Naegi. “Oh, I just wanted you to see these.”

He pulled out a bunch of large papers from under his hoodie. He flipped the first one up, and handed it over.

The first thing Naegi saw was himself. He was in one of his finger-pointing poses, although the lower half of his body had been cropped out. That image of him took up over half the page and underneath, in bold letters, were the following words:

_‘Don’t Lose Hope!”_

“That’s me! But why?”

“I told you, didn’t I? The resistance movements loved using your face after you defeated Enoshima-san!”

He leafed through the pile of posters. He was on every single one. Sometimes, the others would be there too, but he was on every one, front and center. He either wore a big smile, or a look of fierce determination he hadn’t known he could make. Some of them were probably edited, because there were a couple where he actually looked a bit scary (he didn’t think it was a coincidence that those ones had tanks on them). And just as Komaeda had claimed before, the slogans he saw were all his. Sometimes, they had been modified, but he could see his words as the root of all of them.

“They were everywhere,” Komaeda said. “Every city, every block. . . that’s why everyone in the world knows your name.”

“Everyone?” he said weakly.

Komaeda nodded. He looked at Tsumiki for support, and she fervently agreed. Naegi closed his eyes and bit back a groan as the weight of his title began to settle once more.

“Let’s put these up on your Hope Wall,” Komaeda said.

He didn’t argue. Where else would they go?

Once they were done, Naegi studied his work, buying time before he asked his next question. Komaeda was doing the same, and Tsumiki was happily examining one of the pictures that had her in the background.

 Naegi asked then, “Can I have a calendar?”

Komaeda whipped around. “Why!”

He recoiled, not expecting the aggressive reaction, “J-just to keep track of things! I thought . . . I mean like I know Mioda rehearses every Thursday and . . . I’m sorry!”

But the apology was unnecessary. Komaeda had already softened by the time those two words fell out of Naegi’s lips.

“If that’s all you want it for, then how could I say no?” he said.

Naegi said nothing. He didn’t really understand what else he could use it for.

They left for the dining hall. Komaeda managed to carve out a space for them right in the middle of everyone, and then he and Tsumiki took their customary seats next to him. Most people had already started eating, and Naegi hoped that meant there wasn’t going to be much talking. However, he looked up then, across the table, and saw Nevermind staring right at him.

“Ah, Makoto. It’s nice that you could join us,” Nevermind said.

He managed a jagged smile. “Yeah.”

Nevermind smiled pleasantly. Her left hand was laid out on the table, abnormally still, deathly pale, making the red polish on those talon-like nails even more striking . . .

“Komaeda-kun, I hope you’re still not upset about losing this.” Still smiling as if nothing in the world was wrong, Nevermind stroked her dead hand’s knuckles with her other fingers. “Given the commotion you caused, it was only natural you lost that privilege.”

Time stopped. Komaeda . . . Komaeda had . . . His eyes flickered to the Luckster’s intact hand. Komaeda had been going to . . . No. Nevermind must be wrong. He wouldn’t do that. Komaeda would _never_ . . . How could he!

He grabbed Komaeda’s hand. He wanted to hold it close to himself, to curl around it and protect it until Enoshima was truly gone.

“Naegi-kun?”

“You . . . were you going to cut it off?” Naegi whimpered.

Komaeda looked at him for a ~~too~~ long moment.

“No,” he said. “I wasn’t.”

“Good. I . . . I like this hand.”

It was lame, but he didn’t know what else to say. Komaeda seemed to like it though, and gave Naegi’s hand a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” Nevermind said, “but is it that you believe Komaeda-kun is more suited for a different body part? Or perhaps, are you still upset about what happened to yours?”

He was silent. In another situation, Nevermind’s smile would have soothed all his worries. Now, it only amplified them.

“It must be very upsetting,” Nevermind said. “I can only imagine how much you were looking forward to it. To be able to finally see the world as _she_ saw it; to have a piece of her with you forever. It must truly be heartbreaking. Had we known that her eye had gone missing beforehand, surely one of us would have surrendered our gift for you.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He ended up scooting closer to Komaeda.

“I don’t think he wants to talk about it,” Komaeda said tactfully, as he draped his arm around Naegi’s shoulders.

“Oh, please forgive me! I didn’t consider what a sensitive topic that must be for you.”

“It’s okay,” Naegi croaked. He found it much easier to speak now that he was staring at Komaeda’s hoodie rather than her.

He ended up eating dinner with his face basically smashed into the table. He didn’t want to look up. If it wasn’t Nevermind’s hand he saw, then it might be the rightmost two fingers on Tanaka’s hand (Apparently, the rest of Enoshima’s hand had been too damaged), Kuzuryu’s eyepatch, or the pink hair weaving its way through Saionji’s natural ones. And that was only what he knew about. Who knew what other horrors lurked under those layers of clothing? His behaviour didn’t go unnoticed. Tsumiki saw him picking at his food for much too long, and eventually grabbed his wrist and forced him to scoop up proper bites. His stomach was churning, and only seemed to get worse the more was dropped in it, but he didn’t dare say anything.

Afterwards, he shrugged off Komaeda and Tsumiki and returned to his room. Tanaka must have visited before him, because he walked in on Kuma scarfing down his dinner. There was some flashes of pink flesh in that pile, but today it was mostly roots and berries (bears needed rounded diets, too!). Which was good because the last thing he wanted to think about was Tanaka and . . . meat.

( _Kuma wouldn’t do that, right? Kuma was a good bear. Tanaka wouldn’t make him do that_ )

He slithered into bed. Then, on second thought, he got up and dragged the wastebasket over. He really wasn’t feeling well. A gnawing feeling was spreading upwards from his abdomen, and his insides pinched and sparked as if something had started nibbling on them. It was too uncomfortable to sleep, but it was too painful to get up and move around too much, either.

Sometime later, he heard steps on the stairs.

“Umm . . . Makoto?”

“Hey,” he said dully. He was on his back above the covers, staring at the ceiling. Kuma was jawing his shoe.

“Are you okay?” Tsumiki asked. “You were acting strange during dinner.”

“I don’t feel very well,” Naegi admitted.

Tsumiki sat down on the bed next to him. She laid her hand across his forehead.

“Well . . . you don’t seem to have a fever.”

Naegi was silent.

“Is everything okay?” Tsumiki asked.

He stared at her.

Somehow, that question, that concern, was enough to start the waterworks.

He ignored the panic on her face, rolled over and buried his face in her side. (It felt good, it felt like he was sheltered somehow, but he couldn’t forget that it had been _Komaeda_ who had gone to jail for him; _Komaeda_ who had attacked those trying to hurt him). Her light and hesitant touch brushed across his back, before settling more firmly in a half-hug. The fabric under his eyes became damp as he cried silently; only the hitching of his breath would have betrayed him.

“They wanted to . . . Kuzuryu was going to . . . my _eye_.”

The hand stroking his back paused.

“Oh. You wanted to –?”

“No! _No_!” He registered, dimly, that his nails were piercing her clothing and digging into her skin, but didn’t stop. “I don’t want it! They’re going to take my eye. They’re going to tear it out, and then they’re going to stick hers in, and I’m going to be stuck with Enoshima’s eye in my head forever!”

He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? Tsumiki was saying something, but he couldn’t understand because there wasn’t enough air and he couldn’t breathe. He was sitting up – he was on his back. There was a hand on his head? On his back? His brain could no longer distinguish where the signals were coming from.

He choked himself out eventually and that ironically, threw him brain into enough of a stupor to breathe again. Tsumiki was holding his hand, tears running down her own face.

“They’re going to take my eye,” he whispered. And in that moment, he felt _it_ inside him. Cold and suffocating, greasy and black; it covered his mind in heavy coils, dragging it down into the darkness . . .

“No, no!” Obviously freaking out herself, Tsumiki smoothed his hair back. “Nobody’s going to take your eye.”

“They’ll find it,” he said hollowly. “They’ll find it, and then they’ll take mine and . . .”

“They won’t find it!” Tsumiki shouted. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. I won’t let them.”

Naegi said nothing.

She laid down next to him, her forehead against his. “Makoto, can you keep a secret?”

“A secret?”

Tsumiki trembled. He could see her swallow as she moved her head back. She reached up slowly, her fingers slowly crawling up her face before they dug into her eye and _what was she doing_ –?

The contact peeled off, and Naegi was left staring at clear grey.

“M-Mikan . . .” Awestruck, he reached towards her. If she hadn’t blinked, he probably would have poked her straight in the eye, so caught up in amazement was he. What happened to the red? What did it mean? Why . . . why did it feel like a black film was being peeled off his mind?

“I-it’s gone,” she said. “Her eye . . . it can’t hurt you anymore.”

She didn’t need to spell it out. He understood. How she had done it didn’t matter to him.

He smiled. He truly smiled. Then he laughed, and laughed and laughed and couldn’t stop laughing even as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her neck. Tears, good tears, dotted his eyes and the world was bright and full of song and everything was going to be _okay_ –

(And deep inside, he felt it . . .)

(. . . the flame of hope burning once more.)

* * *

The rapping of knuckles against metal woke the older man. It took longer than it should have for him to physically react, although if one took in the too-thin, trembling limbs, it made sense why. Iwata slowly pushed himself up high enough to look in the direction of his cell door. To nobody’s surprise, he saw the small form of Naegi crouched there.

Naegi waved. “Sorry, I know you were sleeping, but I didn’t want to just leave this here and let the rats get it.”

Naegi held out his other hand. What it held, a third of a loaf of bread, wouldn’t have been impressive to most, but it still was enough for Iwata to crawl out of bed and make his way over. The man thanked him quietly as he accepted the gift, and took a big bite.

“I spent most of last time under your bed,” Naegi said, “so I didn’t really notice before, but . . . you seem skinnier than I remember. Is that because I wasn’t bringing you food anymore?”

Iwata patted his hand. “It’s alright, Naegi-kun. It’s not your fault.”

“They’re not cuffing me to that bed anymore,” Naegi said. “I’m free to move around again, so I’ll make up for it. I’ll bring enough food to throw a party in here!”

“The sentiment is nice, but please, no parties.”

Naegi’s smiled faltered. “The atmosphere isn’t right, is it? Maybe I can talk Kuzuryu-kun into letting you out for a day. It would probably be good for you.”

Lost in his fantasies, Naegi did not see the strange way Iwata stared at him – as if Naegi had gone off and started talking about aliens.

“I’m not sure I would trust Ultimate Despair to uphold a bargain like that,” Iwata said slowly.

“It’s fine. I’d make them promise not to hurt you.” Naegi sighed. “If I could find a way to spin this into despair, they’ll probably say okay.”

Iwata put his chunk of bread down. “Naegi-kun, do you trust them?”

That was a strange question. “Well, I mean if I make them promise, they wouldn’t do anything. They wouldn’t break their promise. Kuzuryu-kun or Komaeda-kun will probably insist on watching, but that’s it. I’ll make them promise not to do anything to you afterwards, too, so it’ll be okay.”

Iwata’s eyes seemed to bore into his soul. “Naegi-kun, they kill people.”

His mind blanked for a while. But, then he started to speak. “No, no, they won’t hurt you if I make them promise. It’s okay. They won’t hurt you.”

Iwata stared at him for a long time. Then, his head slumped forward, coming to rest against the metal bars. The man’s eyes were closed; one hand squeezed as it wrapped around a metal bar. Naegi squirmed, warning bells going off in his head as he tasted something like _despair_ seeping from the other man.

“Iwata-kun?” He reached through the bars and grabbed the other’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Iwata gently, but firmly, pushed Naegi’s hand off. Hurt, Naegi took his hand back, and it curled into a fist over his chest.

“Naegi-kun,” Iwata rasped, “I need to ask you something.”

He brightened up at the idea that he could help. “Sure!”

“Do you still want to escape?”

“Of course!”

And Iwata opened his eyes. “. . . Why?”

Naegi repeated the question. He didn’t understand. Wasn’t that what Iwata and everyone wanted him to do? He was supposed to escape – he needed to escape – and really, this was such a silly question.

( _Why was it so hard to answer?_ )

“I don’t understand,” he finally admitted. “Escaping is what I have to do. Why are you asking this?”

“You don’t _have_ to, Naegi-kun. I’m sure Ultimate Despair doesn’t want you to. But you are still choosing to pursue escape. Tell me _why_.”

Why?

He struggled. “My friends are with the Future Foundation. I don’t want to think I abandoned them.”

“You’ll have to abandon Ultimate Despair to return to them. Are they . . . are Ultimate Despair your friends?”

He’d . . . he’d have to leave his friends? It was odd that it hadn’t really occurred to him. Or rather, the part about leaving behind his friends hadn’t sunk in. His mouth went dry as the thought of leaving behind people like Komaeda and Tsumiki. They’d be so hurt. ~~Komaeda would be so angry~~.

And yet . . .

“Do you still want to escape?”

Naegi nodded.

“Then think.” Somehow, Iwata pressed himself closer to the bars. “I need you think hard. Why do you need to get out of here?”

Naegi bit his lip. Iwata was searching for a certain answer here, he could sense it. However, he didn’t understand what it was, or where to start. His arms began to shake. Oddly, the sight of the cell bars were comforting in a small way. ( _No matter what he answered, Iwata couldn’t get mad and hurt him_ ).

“My classmates are my friends, too,” Naegi half-said, half-whimpered. “I want to see them again, and Komaeda-kun let me listen to recordings of them at the Future Foundation, so I know they miss me, too. And . . . and it wasn’t fair . . .”

“What wasn’t fair?” Iwata pressed.

“. . . They didn’t know. They didn’t know what was going to happen. Komaeda-kun didn’t ask them, so it wasn’t fair.”

“What didn’t he ask?” Iwata said. “Naegi-kun, what did Komaeda do to you?”

“He . . . he . . .”

His palms were beginning to sweat.

“He _took_ me. He took me without asking them.”

“What about you? Did he ask you?”

“N-no. He didn’t ask anyone. He never asks.”

Iwata’s frown deepened. “He doesn’t. . .”

“He never asks,” Naegi said. “He makes me listen to things, and _watch_ things. And if I don’t listen to him and do it, then he gets angry. He wouldn’t hurt me, but what he does _hurts_.”

“Naegi-kun . . .”

But Naegi himself cut Iwata off with a sharp, hurried whisper. As if there were spies lurking in the shadows. “If I don’t listen to him and he gets mad, he’ll stop protecting Komaru. He’ll let Ultimate Despair kill her. He won’t tell me where my parents are, but he’ll give them to Ultimate Despair, too. And then he’ll . . . he’ll stop protecting me. He’ll let them do whatever they want with me.”

“Naegi-!” Panic flashed in Iwata’s expression.

“They wanted . . . they were going to rip out my eye!” A sudden urge seized him, and he came precariously close to smashing his forehead against the bars. “They wanted to stick Enoshima’s eye in my head. Komaeda-kun told them no. He was the one that protected me.”

As he spoke that last sentence, his eyes began to water. He felt guilty, horribly guilty . . . but he couldn’t understand _why_. Yet something inside him knew, and it was rank with guilt.

“Iwata-kun? Please don’t tell him I said any of that.” Naegi whispered that as his eyes darted around the area. “He’ll get so mad at me.”

“Of course I wouldn’t tell him. I’d never tell any of them about our conversations.”

Naegi shivered.

“There’s something I have to remind you of,” Iwata said. “Your sister, your parents, _you_ . . . none of you would need protecting if it wasn’t for Komaeda in the first place. Don’t lose sight of that. He may not be as terrible as the rest, but that doesn’t make him a good person. He may have protected you once, but he’s still a monster –”

Monster? Naegi snapped to attention. That was going a little too far, wasn’t it? He wasn’t aware he was shaking his head until he saw Iwata’s face fall.

“He’s not that bad,” Naegi said, _needing_ to make Iwata understand. “He does things I don’t like and scares me sometimes, and he has a lot of problems. . .  but they all do. It’s Enoshima’s fault. She hurt them all, and . . .”

“Naegi!” Iwata’s hiss was fraught with pain. “You can’t blame everything on her.”

“She’s the reason they’re like this. She’s the real Ultimate Despair.”

“She didn’t drag you here, _Komaeda_ did.” Spit flew from the other’s mouth, so fierce were the words. If he were any stronger, Iwata looked as though he would have pounded his fists on the bars separating them. “Enoshima’s dead. She isn’t telling them what to do anymore.”

 _It’s complicated_ , he wanted to say, but Iwata didn’t seem as though he would listen. And Naegi didn’t want to make Iwata any angrier at him.

“Naegi-kun, you said . . .” Iwata took a deep, shuddering breath that rattled down his body. “You said Komaeda hurts you.”

Naegi said nothing. Part of him wondered if Iwata would change the subject if he stayed quiet.

“You know that isn’t normal. It’s not right. He’s not a good person. _They_ are not good people.”

Naegi hugged himself. He didn’t want to listen, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop listening.

“You’re not the only one they’re hurting,” Iwata said. “Every day, every _single day_ , they hurt thousands of people besides you. They are _Ultimate Despair_. You know what that means. You know what they do. You must remember what they did to your friends.”

“. . . I’ve seen them kill people,” he admitted quietly.

“That’s what they do.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks. He remembered their faces: his classmates, his friends, those Future Foundation agents, the assassin – even the nameless victims in the videos Komaeda made him watch. He could see them all in his peripheral vision, watching, judging him from the shadows.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry!”

_I didn’t want any of you to die for me._

“Thank god I’m in Seventh Division,” Iwata mumbled, head in his hands.

Naegi clung to the bars, eyes squeezed shut as the spectres drifted around them. He could almost feel cold fingers on his back.

“Naegi-kun, I need to ask you once more. Why are you trying to escape?”

“Because . . .” He swallowed and felt the world tip. “Because they’re not good people, and . . . and they need to be stopped. I need to get out . . . I need . . . to spread hope.”

Naegi stared into the distance. Normally, speaking to Iwata made him feel better. This time, it made him feel a lot worse. That rank, guilty thing was still rotting in his chest. Only now its roots had expanded and stretched out through his body, and they were starting to hurt. If he crawled back now, he wondered if Tsumiki would notice anything wrong.

“There’s something I need to ask of you,” Iwata said.

Naegi flinched. “Yes?”

“Can you promise me, that every day before you fall asleep, can you remind yourself of that? Stand in front of a mirror and remind yourself why you need to escape. Can you do that for me?”

Another duty. It felt better somehow to have a solid command to grasp.

“Okay.”

“. . . Come here.”

Iwata reached through the bars. His hand landed on the small of Naegi’s back, and tried to pulled him in. With the bars between them, it made for an uncomfortable position, but it was the closest to a hug Iwata could get.

“. . . Iwata-kun, are you crying?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Monkey see, monkey do.


	57. The Imitation Game

It was very lonely as he made his way back to his room. The air was brisk, and he hugged himself to stay warm. Monokumas marched past him, ignoring him and the one trailing him. Absently, he wondered how warm it would be if he had fur, too.

But it wasn’t long before his thoughts turned to darker subject. Iwata’s words still bothered him. They left no distinct impression, but lingered like a thick fog over the dreamscape of his thoughts. He wanted to talk to someone about it, but whom would he go to? Ultimate Despair? No. They would get upset and hurt Iwata. Kamukura? Naegi doubted the apathetic teen would offer the sort of help he was seeking. It might be nice to rant at Kuma for a bit, but Kuma couldn’t help him, either. No this was usually the kind of stuff he would go to Iwata about in the first place!

He laughed bitterly. In the end, no matter how much they loved him, he really was alone, wasn’t he?

“Naegi-kun?”

He twitched.

Komaeda approached him carefully. His hands were open and lifted to shoulder-height, showing he wasn’t holding any weapons. “Are you okay? You seem a little out-of-sorts.”

“I’m fine,” Naegi mumbled, fooling no one.

He didn’t look at Komaeda, but heard the other sigh. “Come on, don’t be like that. Aren’t you happy to have your own room?”

He shrugged.

“Do you miss us that much?” Komaeda asked. “We’re still here. If you want to spend more time with us, you just need to ask!”

He shrugged.

Komaeda sighed again. Komaeda’s hand landed on his shoulder, and began reeling him in.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, it can’t be that bad,” Komaeda murmured. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t get mad. I promise. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

Komaeda’s chest was warm against his cheek. Without a word, the older teen pulled him in tighter, pressing their bodies together. Naegi squeezed his eyes shut.

“Aren’t you cold?” Komaeda asked as he loosened the hug. His fingers ran over Naegi’s bare arms. “You look cold. What happened to that hoodie you always wore?”

“I don’t want it anymore,” Naegi said. “It’s . . . bad.”

“Bad, huh? Well, that’s a shame. I always liked it.”

So had he.

He got caught up in bittersweet memories. Enough so that he didn’t notice Komaeda peeling off his own hoodie until soft fabric pooled upon his shoulders. Naegi blinked, and then held out his covered arms. The too-large length of Komaeda’s hoodie hung down from his arms, and below his hips.

“There!” Komaeda said with no small amount of satisfaction. “Any warmer?”

“Aren’t you going to get cold?” Naegi asked.

“I have others,” Komaeda said. “Besides, the Ultimate Hope needs to be taken care of first!”

Naegi turned his head away, trying to hide the red tint to his cheeks. “. . . Thank you.”

“Now, do you want to tell me what was bothering you?”

“It’s not important,” Naegi said.

“If it involves you, it’s always important,” Komaeda said. “But if you don’t really want to talk about it, I understand.”

“Thank you.”

At that moment, Naegi truly looked at Komaeda and almost immediately, his eyes snapped to something in particular.

“Komaeda-kun, what are those?”

He pointed at the bruises littering Komaeda’s arms.

“Hmm?” Komaeda said that carelessly, but his eyes went wide when he saw exactly what had drawn Naegi’s attention. “Ah! Those . . . they’re not important! Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re hurt,” he said softly. He wanted to brush his fingers along that arm. “Is. . . is someone . . .?”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s . . .” Komaeda sucked in a huge breath. “They’re all my fault.”

Naegi caught onto the hidden meaning. “Wh-why? Why would you do that -?”

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s to keep you safe, that’s all.” Komaeda cradled his bruised arm close. “Luck is a balance, so I . . . I have to keep adding weight to the right side so that everything turns out okay. Does that make any sense?”

“So, you’re doing things to yourself, to make sure your luck doesn’t?”

“That’s the basic idea,” Komaeda said. “It’s all for you, you know. I don’t want anything to happen to you because of my luck.”

“You shouldn’t have to . . .”

But Komaeda was already shushing him. “You’re _Hope_. Of course, I do. Anyone would.”

“. . . Oh. But, you can’t even guarantee it’ll work –”

“Well, that’s what your luck is there for,” Komaeda said. “To counter anything that falls through the cracks.”

“My luck really isn’t any good . . .”

Komaeda said, “It saved you from an execution once, didn’t it?”

“Because Alter Ego hacked the device. . .”

“Which only happened because of your luck.” Komaeda ruffled his hair. “It all happened because of _you_. Now, why don’t we stop talking about this . . .?”

(It was praised like a question, but it was never a question)

Naegi returned to his room afterwards. He slung Komaeda’s hoodie over the back of a chair, and then crawled into bed, still exhausted from his conversation with Iwata. Kuma waddled over, sniffed the hoodie, and then turned away with a snort. He ended up plopping down next to Naegi’s bed, letting Naegi stroke his head. Naegi stared ahead, eyes on the hoodie.

_See, Iwata? See?_

Kuma pressed his head into Naegi’s chest. Naegi hugged him.

_. . . He’s not a monster._

* * *

_What am I doing?_

Naegi pushed away the snout of a curious Kuma and returned his eyes to the desk. The balled-up socks stuffed between his teeth made his mouth dry and didn’t have a pleasant taste, but he didn’t have anything else to bite down on.

_Why am I doing this?_

His eyes flickered to the rock he had smuggled into his room from the garden. It sat on the corner of his desk, but he scooped it up now, and it fit nicely into his palm. He laid his other hand on the desk, and spread his fingers.

 _Am I really going to do this_?

He took a deep breath; the cool air smoothed over his troubled emotions and let him go through his reasoning again. He needed to escape, yes, and wasn’t gaining much ground with that. Whether due to bad luck, or the measures Ultimate Despair had taken to monitor him, his last two attempts had been foiled. Coming up with and implementing a new plan wasn’t going to be easy. He needed . . . he needed an advantage. He needed a weapon that Komaeda didn’t know about.

And Komaeda had said . . .

He knew the truth. He knew he was really Hope and not a Lucky Student. But Komaeda had still said he had luck, so he _must_ be lucky too. And Komaeda controlled his luck by . . . so surely, if it worked for Komaeda, it must work for him, too.

He’d start small. He eyed his pinky, stretched it as far as he could from the other fingers, and raised the rock –

“It won’t work.”

He flinched. The rock slipped from his grasp, crashing into the desk an inch away from the finger he’d aimed to smash.

“K-Kamukura-kun!”

Kamukura stepped forward from where he’d been watching on the staircase. He crossed the room, stopping behind Naegi, and stared at the rock.

“I got it from the garden,” Naegi mumbled. Although he knew Kamukura wouldn’t care, he felt guilty about having something he shouldn’t in his room.

Kamukura looked at him. “Naegi, this isn’t normal.”

“Huh?”

Kamukura did not react to that, making Naegi wonder if he had really spoken at all.

Kamukura said, “Your plan won’t work.”

“It’s not really a plan,” Naegi said. “Not like a solid one. It’s like that time I borrowed your shoes. It’s something to have to help me out in the future.”

“And it will fail.”

“But Komaeda-kun does it!” Naegi cried. “He told me! That’s how he makes sure good things happen to him. He does things to himself that he gets good luck and it balances out –”

“It won’t work for you.”

“But Komaeda-kun said –!”

“Naegi, you are not Komaeda,” Kamukura said. “Your luck does not follow the same mechanisms. It will not work.”

. . . There went that plan. Naegi slumped into his chair. Kamukura reached past him and picked up the rock.

“Komaeda doesn’t know about this, does he?”

“No,” Naegi said. He drew his feet up so that they sat on the chair with him. “It was supposed to be my secret weapon against him.”

“That was also destined to fail,” Kamukura said. “In the near-impossible event that Komaeda did not notice you were harming yourself, Tsumiki would. No doubt you would lose the privacy of this room and be placed in one of theirs., most likely Tsumiki’s.”

“Could be a lot worse.”

The rock balanced on Kamukura’s palm. He stared at Naegi, and asked, “Why did you attempt this?”

“I told you,” Naegi said. “I wanted to make sure I only had good luck.”

“Why _else_ did you attempt this?”

“. . . What do you mean? That was my only reason,” Naegi said.

Kamukura’s lips parted a little, as if he wanted to say something. But Naegi lost sight of whatever ghost lay upon his lips, for Kamukura turned his head away as he put the rock inside his pocket.

“I’d advise you don’t try this again,” Kamukura said. “It will only lead to failure.”

“. . . Thanks for the warning.”

Kamukura was about to leave then, but then Naegi remembered something and stopped the older teen. He fumbled inside his desk drawer and then with sweaty hands, handed over the pictures of Nanami he had stashed away.

“I thought you might want these,” he said.

Kamukura said nothing. But he did take them.

Naegi bit his lower lip. Kamukura didn’t seem upset by the photos, which was a good sign. Still, Naegi was reluctant to take the next step . . .

“What is it?”

Ah, right. Kamukura would be able to read body language.

“I had a conversation with Kuzuryu-kun,” he began haltingly. “One of the things that came up was you . . . and Nanami-san.”

Kamukura was silent.

“I don’t believe it, but Kuzuryu-kun thinks . . . I know it isn’t true. That’s just his opinion, and you didn’t . . .”

“I didn’t what?” Kamukura asked.

“. . . You didn’t kill her,” Naegi said. “Kuzuryu-kun thinks what Hope’s Peak said was a cover-up and . . . please don’t tell him I told you he said that!”

Kamukura was silent.

“So, you didn’t kill her, right?”

Kamukura was silent for a long time.

“Naegi, what do you define as murder?” Kamukura asked.

“Me? Well, it’s killing someone, isn’t it? Isn’t that the definition?”

“Perhaps, but there’s a grey area, is there not?”

“I guess?”

Kamukura’s eyes seemed to glint in the light. “Do you consider Ikusaba a murderer?”

“Her? She didn’t even . . .”

“She knew what her sister was planning,” Kamukura said. “Ikusaba assisted her in the preparations. Despite what you may think, Ikusaba had a choice. There were points where, had she acted, she could have prevented any of this from coming to pass. Your friends would still be alive. Hence, I ask you, is Ikusaba a murderer?”

“I guess she is, in a way,” he said.

Kamukura nodded. The older teen stared at the distant wall and Naegi saw . . .

And suddenly, for some reason he couldn’t comprehend, Naegi needed to speak again. “But you said it yourself: she knew what was going to happen, and did it anyways. That’s why. She chose to kill us. That’s the reason she’s a murderer; it’s not just because she could have prevented it, and didn’t –”

Kamukura’s head whipped around. “How much do you know?”

Naegi flinched back, taken off-guard by the sharp tone. “Umm, Kuzuryu-kun said you two had a fight a few days before she died, and that Hope’s Peak claimed she had tried to . . . but I don’t believe that either. You guys have told me about her in the past, and she doesn’t seem like that kind of person.”

“That’s it?” Kamukura pressed. “That’s all you know about what happened?”

“Well, yeah.”

In the stillness of the room, there wasn’t much to break the trance between them. Even Kuma had been caught up in it, and he lurked at a safe distance near the back. Kamukura had been leaning forward to study Naegi before, but he pulled back now; the movement made those long strands of hair shiver.

“I don’t understand how you’re still alive,” Kamukura said quietly. He tilted his head a little. “Metaphorically speaking.”

“What did you expect?” Naegi asked, his own head tilting to match.

“Failure,” Kamukura said bluntly. “I didn’t expect to get this far. I thought it was doomed to fail.”

“Uh, thanks?”

He shuffled his feet. Kamukura was doing that thing where he just stood there and stared, and you couldn’t tell if he was thinking and wanted to say something, or just looking at nothing. It was as uncomfortable as it was nerve-wracking.

“Umm, Kamukura-kun, I’m not going to try copying Komaeda-kun anymore. But I did have something else I wanted to try, so if there’s nothing else you wanted to talk about . . .”

Kamukura nodded and turned on his heel. As he made his way towards the stairs, Naegi walked over to the closet and began to root through the stuff crammed in the bottom –

“Naegi.”

On his knees, Naegi turned around. Kamukura was standing on the bottom step.

“If one sacrificed an innocent to save another from something terrible, would you call them a murderer?”

“It depends,” Naegi said. “Did they know they were sacrificing someone? And did the person who they killed volunteer to be in danger?”

“If I said yes to the first, and no to the second?”

“. . . I don’t know. It would depend on exactly what happened, I guess,” Naegi said. “It definitely doesn’t sound like a good thing to do, though.”

Kamukura said nothing, but it wasn’t long before Naegi heard him climb the rest of the stairs.

* * *

“Alright, Kuma, guard the door!”

Kuma stared at him.

“. . . Or not.”

Kuma stared at him. Nearby, a robotic bear stared at him, too. That wasn’t surprising. Someone always followed him unless he was with a Despair, and Kuma didn’t count. In fact, he had counted on being followed this time. He had a plan, and that plan was the reason he had ran into a washroom, waited until the Monokuma robot followed him, and then closed the three of them inside. He was hoping that Kuma would guard the door and keep anyone from seeing what he was up to, but apparently, Kuma was too cool for that.

Well, even if Kuma wouldn’t do that, he was useful for something else. Naegi ducked behind him. The Monokuma, able to see his feet under the bear’s belly, stayed where it was. Confident that his head was hidden, Naegi reached under his shirt and took out the mask the Imposter had given him. He slipped it on, and then stepped out.

The Monokuma stared. It looked to both sides, and then began spinning in an attempt to find the one it recognized as ‘Naegi’. He could almost hear its brain short-circuiting.

Naegi opened the washroom door. He stepped outside.

The robot did not follow him. It was still spinning when he closed the door.

“It worked,” he said. “Did you see that, Kuma? It worked!”

Naegi had been a little too close, and when Kuma turned his head at the sound of his name, his snout smacked into Naegi’s cheek.

Laughing, rubbing the impact site, Naegi took a step back. “They fell for it. It thought I was Kuzuryu-kun. And that means . . . that means if I’m careful, I can get around without being followed anymore. I can go places by myself!”

The possibilities spun in front of him, endless. But one caught his attention; the one that had been the reason he had asked for the mask in the first place . . .

“Maybe I can even walk out of here.”

It seemed impossible. To just walk out. It was too easy. Too anticlimactic. Surely, it couldn’t be. But maybe it could be, and that notion was bubbling in his chest and filling his veins with fire.

“Come on, Kuma! We’re getting out of here.” Taking off so fast that Kuma startled, he hurdled down the hall. The promise of freedom and fresh air lay before him as he rounded the corner –

At that moment, his right shoe loosened.

Somehow, it clung to his foot until the apex of its swing. His shoe flew off; the small change in foot-height was enough for him to stumble. And the shoe arced through the air until it smacked into a certain helmet.

On the ground, Naegi blinked at the Monokuma soldier. The soldier was staring at his fallen shoe.

Naegi cleared his throat. “Uh, don’t worry about that. It’s mine.”

The soldier’s glowing red eyes turned to him. “Request repeat.”

“Oh, sure! I said it’s –”

“Error.” That was more of a drone than speech, like a low-pitch warning beep. “Request identification.”

“. . . I’m Kuzuryu –”

“ _Error_!” That word was louder now, and the helmet’s red eyes had sharpened. “Voice profile does not match target!”

Voice profile . . .

Oh. That wasn’t good.

It took only a second for the solider to pull out their firearm. Luckily, it took Kuma less time than that to sense what was coming, and lunge. The pure weight of the impact sent the gun skittering across the floor, but there was nothing Kuma knew how to do about the warning siren coming from the soldier’s walkie talkie. Behind him, Naegi could hear the Monokuma in the washroom throwing itself into the door –

And on the third attempt, it gave way.  The robot landed, and it whirled around, claws unsheathed. It teetered for a second, but then it lurched forward –

Right into Kuma’s waiting jaws. Thick teeth pierced the skull with a loud crack, silencing the robot forever in an instant. Then, Kuma appeared to forget what he had been doing, and he idly gnawed on the robot’s head. But behind him, the soldier had risen and although there was no gun in their hand, it was undeniable that Naegi was its target. And all around them, it seemed, the thunder of approaching footsteps neared.

“It’s me! I’m not Kuzuryu-kun!” Naegi ripped off the mask, and threw it behind him. “I’m Naegi Makoto!”

“Warning. _Warning!_ ” The soldier’s fist tangled with the front of his shirt. “An intruder has been spotted in this area. Intruder’s location is unknown.”

“That’s nice.” He patted the soldier’s hand.

“ _Securing Naegi Makoto_.” Without warning, the soldier picked up by the shirt, and hauled him into the same washroom the Monokuma robot had broke out of. Kuma watched, confused, as the soldier pushed Naegi inside, and then planted itself in the doorway, guarding him from a nonexistent threat.

“No, you don’t have to do that!” Naegi tried to squeeze past, but the soldier pushed him back inside. “There’s no danger. I’m fine!”

“Okay, where’s the intruder?”

Nidai came stomping onto the scene; Naegi could hear lightning cracking from his eyes. Out in the hallway, Nidai caught sight of Kuma, and then began calling for Naegi. Naegi responded, reaching out and waving past the soldier. That lasted only a second before the soldier grabbed his arm and shoved him back inside.

“Naegi-kun! Are you okay? Did that intruder get you?”

“There’s . . . there’s no intruder!” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be that big a deal!”

“But the alarm said . . .”

There was no choice but to admit his guilt.

Head buried in his hands, he said, “It was me. I was wearing the mask the Imposter gave me. I thought it would be funny . . . I only said hi!”

Nidai stared at him. Slowly, that head turned and then found the discarded mask in the middle of the hall. Nidai picked it up, and let it unravel so he could see it clearly.

“. . . I guess that’s it then. I was hoping I could break some bones. HEY, YOU! CALL OFF THE ALERT! IT’S JUST NAEGI!”

The soldier saluted, mumbled into its walkie-talkie, and then marched off, leaving Naegi sitting in that washroom. Nidai offered his hand, and Naegi accepted the Coach’s offer to pull him to his feet. As far as he could tell, Nidai hadn’t taken any of Enoshima’s parts. He was okay.

“Thanks,” Naegi said. “I did not expect them to react that way and . . . Hey, stop laughing!”

“Sorry! But it’s pretty funny.” Nidai wiped a tear from his eye. “I wish I saw your face when they first sounded the alarm.”

“. . . I guess it’s funny when you think about it,” he said. “Why do they have voice profiles on record to begin with?”

“The Imposter isn’t the only one who knows how to disguise himself,” Nidai said. “So, we have to make sure we’re investigating everyone all the time!”

“But . . . if you’re using voice profiles, what about the Imposter? Does he have to update the database every time he changes disguises?”

“Nah, his voice has clearance no matter what he looks like. We were getting too many false alarms.”

“Can I have the mask back?”

Nidai handed it over without even a question. Naegi balled up the mask in his hand.

“You guys don’t mind I have this, right? Is there any chance I could get clearance in this mask?”

“Sorry, kid, but I don’t think Kuzuryu-kun would go for it. He’s got higher clearance than the rest of us, and he’d be worried that the Monokumas would get confused or something.”

 “If they use voices to detect intruders, then I guess they make everyone who trying to get in or out speak to them.”

“Yep! That’s right.”

Ah, so the mask was useless then. There was no point in keeping . . .

No, that wasn’t true. Even if it wasn’t foolproof, it still gave him a way to walk around without being tracked. That, at least, was something. It would be foolish to think that the mask didn’t offer any advantages; he just had keep his mouth shut.

“Thanks, Nidai-kun!” Naegi smiled brightly, although he felt nothing on the inside. “I’ll be sure to remember all that.”


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't think of a chapter title this time. It's very sad.

“. . . Do I need to repeat that?”

“No,” Kirigiri said. “I heard your request the first time.”

Munakata didn’t move. He stood behind her shoulder, watching. She had made the mistake of eating in an empty board room rather than her office to get some peace from the mix of distraught, or blame-happy grunts determined to bother her every minute of the day. Apparently though, Munakata liked to check those empty board rooms in his spare time. Though it was much more likely that he had been looking for her.

“. . . And?” Munakata pressed.

“Give me some time to consider this. It isn’t an easy request.”

Munakata had a good poker face, but Kirigiri herself was well-versed in that area. She saw how the corners of his lip dipped.

“This isn’t a situation in which we have much time to idle,” Munakata said. “The public is demanding answers – sometimes, violently so. We need to act.”

“Believe me, I know personally how upset they are,” Kirigiri said. “But what you’re asking of me. . . are you sure this is wise?”

“The earlier, the harsher we strike, the sooner the problem goes away.”

She was quiet. She purposely raised her hand to her chin, holding it in her traditional ‘thinking’ pose, hoping he would recognize that and give her some space. But instead, Munakata walked around to the other side of the table, and sat down across from her.

“. . . He’s not coming back,” Munakata said.

It took everything she had not to jerk her head up to stare at him.

“Ultimate Despair has revealed their hand. They will not let us take them, now. They will not allow us to undo their work.”

Her hand was on her lap, hidden from his sight, and that meant she could ball it into a fist.

“. . . We both know Naegi Makoto isn’t getting out of there alive.”

 _No._ Something inside her lurched, but on the outside, she didn’t stir. Her other hand, resting on the table, tapped out a steady pattern.

Munakata continued. “Until the problem is fully taken care of, I’m asking you to help us blunt the damage.”

. . . Had she sounded like this once? Hearing how coldly, how clinically Munakata could mark Naegi for death made her reflect. Back during the Killing Game, she had been upset when the others died; the way anyone would be upset when someone they knew was murdered for another’s sick amusement. But she knew she had been cold; knew the deaths hadn’t hit her as hard as they had Asahina or Naegi; knew that until her own hands were covered with metaphorical blood, that the temptation of the chase had meant more to her than it should. No wonder, then, that it had only been Naegi in his eternal friendliness that had bothered to get close. No wonder, then, that the branch heads swallowed her lies.

( _No wonder, then, that her friends were so willing to think the worst of her_ )

“I know what has to be done,” she said, “but I need you to understand. I’m currently the subject of a great deal of misguided hatred. If I were to do as you say and claim that I suspected Naegi was a hidden servant of Despair all along, don’t you think that might turn the world against me even more? Is it really necessary to have me play the role of public enemy number one? Especially when I am going to be the head of the _public relations_ department? Or is that being revoked?”

Munakata stared at her for a long time.

“. . . That is a fair point,” he finally said. “I will see if we can get by without your testimony. However, do be aware that in the future, I may call upon you to fulfill your obligations to the Future Foundation.”

“Thank you.”

With a nod, he left her. Kirigiri watched him, wondering if he would try to seek out Hagakure next – wondered whether Hagakure would accept. Naegi may have been his friend, but Hagakure looked out for himself first. . .

She closed her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. Life would be so much easier if Naegi hadn’t gotten himself into this mess.

_. . . If she had planned her moves more carefully, listened to that nagging feeling that had warned her against letting him out of her sight; if she had not taken the bait and trusted the shelter of that store’s four walls . . ._

She pushed back her ~~despai~~ r guilt. It was in the past, and she couldn’t change it. At least now though, she could get some peace –

Or not.

She scooped up her ringing cellphone and glanced at the screen. Once she saw who was calling, she picked up.

“Yes?”

Hagakure’s voice came from the other end. “Uh, so, I found Togami-chi.”

“Give him the phone.”

There was a scuffling on the other end as the cellphone was presumably handed over. She knew immediately when it was in Togami’s possession, because she could hear the Heir clearing his throat.

“Well?” she asked.

“It seems to have worked,” Togami said. “I passed the cargo to Hagakure. I presume he’ll be the one delivering it?”

“That is correct.”

“. . . Is that wise?”

In the background, Hagakure squawked in protest. Kirigiri ignored that and said, “I can’t do it. My absence would be noticed right away. No one is going to care if he’s not around.”

She could picture Togami’s sneer. “I see your point.”

“What of Towa City? Are the others okay?”

“I told them to stay indoors and lay low. Asahina managed to find one of those Naegi loyalists, and they’re staying with her. Alter Ego is monitoring the city’s communications, and he’s already found some potential locations being used by our targets.”

“That fast?”

“I told him to investigate any major activity that happened shortly after I made my _very_ noticeable departure, especially if that area had been quiet beforehand.” Togami’s voice oozed with pride. “We still haven’t confirmed anything, but it looks like my advice paid off.”

“Good. You can return without getting seen?”

“Naturally.”

They spoke a little more, and she hung up shortly after. She didn’t like the idea of trusting Hagakure with this next task, with trusting him to keep a secret this critical, but she hadn’t much choice. She could barely disappear for that errand, and she didn’t want Togami separated from Asahina and Fukawa for too long. So, it had to be Hagakure then, because it _had_ to be done. Because if Munakata was truly set on abandoning Naegi . . .

. . . Then this might be the only way to reach her friend.

* * *

“Makoto? Are you there?”

Naegi squirmed under the blankets at the sound of Mikan’s voice. His eyelids seemed sluggish and heavy, although in the hour or so he had been lying here, he had yet to sleep. He had tossed and turned quite a lot though, the result being that his head poked out where his feet should be.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Umm, I don’t know. It’s just . . . it’s been a few days, and you’ve mostly just stayed in your room. . .”

“It’s not much different than sitting on a hospital bed all day,” he muttered.

He heard her sigh. He refused to face her. He was . . . he wasn’t angry at her, or anything. He wasn’t sure what he was. All he knew was that he didn’t want to face anyone.

“Everyone’s wondering where you are,” she said. “Umm . . . Owari-san and Soda-kun are arranging a game of capture the flag. I promise they’re not using real guns!”

“No thanks,” he said.

There was silence. He blinked. When he opened his eyes again, Mikan was right in front of him. She sunk down to her knees, becoming eye level with him as he slumped over the side of his bed.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You seem upset lately. Ever since . . .”

She trailed off. Naegi curled up, no longer hanging over the side of the bed.

“Makoto, you . . .” Her hand brushed his hair. “You can tell me. I’m not going to get mad at you. Everyone’s just worried.”

He burrowed partway under the blankets. The hard button of his rabbit’s nose ended up pressing into his hip. It took him a second too long to understand what it was, but then his arm looped out and reeled it in.

The mattress creaked as Mikan settled upon it. Through the blanket, her hand rested on the arch in his back.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” she said. “I guess I understand. But I do want to help. So, when you feel better, you can always come to me! I’ll try my best.”

Under the blanket where she couldn’t see, his eyes wrenched shut and his head turned from side to side. He squeezed the rabbit by the neck so hard he thought the head might pop off.

 “Even if I got away, they still did _that_ to themselves,” he said hoarsely. “They carved themselves up and replaced them with _her_ . . . They’ve mixed themselves with _her_.”

And with those words, with those flickering memories of nightmares filled with blood an darkness, something rose within him. It wasn’t pungent. It wasn’t suffocating or overwhelming. It was just . . . there. There, and growing, and unable to be stopped – like a mighty river carving a path through loose dirt. And it was pouring out of his mouth, unable to be held back –

“I hate her. I hate her! I’m glad Enoshima’s dead!”

They were poisonous words. Words that he had never uttered before. His body rebelled against them. Hot became cold. Colours blurred. The soft fabric of the rabbit scraped against his skin. That dripping heat, that _hate_ remained within him, pulsing like a flickering ember.

“M-Makoto! You shouldn’t say that. E-everyone would be upset if they heard that. . .”

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

She sat with him a while longer. Eventually, she stood.

“I’ll tell them you don’t want to play,” she said. “But, umm, Makoto? They really do miss you.”

Naegi was silent as her departing steps echoed.

* * *

He woke up suddenly. He didn’t quite know why, but part of his cheek was strangely cold, as if wet. When he touched the spot, his finger stuck for a moment. So, it was wet, but why in the world. . .?

A small weight pressed onto his chest.

He blinked. There was a. . . a dog? Wait, no, a _puppy_. A pointed-ear, black puppy with a white bib and paws that was trying to scurry over his body. Its tail was wagging, even when it tripped in its attempt to jump over him.

“Hi,” he said. That single word immediately caught the puppy’s attention and it pounced. A small tongue attacked his face and he knew automatically where that wet patch from before came from.

He giggled. It was a _puppy_! He had Kuma, yes, but Kuma wasn’t this tiny little fluffball that he could grab and roll around with. Bears were special, but puppies were special in a different away, and he felt like a little kid again.

“Where did you come from?” he asked. He had the puppy’s face between his hands as he rubbed it behind the ears. He looked around and –

That joy popped. For sitting on floor on the other side of the room, calmly letting Kuma eat from his hand, was Tanaka. Naegi’s eyes snapped to those two unnatural fingers, and it was like Kuzuryu was towering over him again, telling him that his days were numbered and soon they would be the same –

The puppy pounced and tackled his face with kisses.

He fought the puppy off and sat up. Tanaka had stood up, and he was walking over. Kuma was following behind and Naegi immediately tried to meet his eye, remembering how Kuma had fought assassins and robots for him. However, Kuma didn’t seem at all inclined to protect him from Tanaka. If anything, Naegi realized with horror, Kuma might side against him and with Tanaka . . .

Tanaka sat on the far side of the bed without looking at him.

That surprised him, enough so that the puppy wriggled out of his hold and ran up to his master. The puppy vibrated where it sat as Tanaka stoked its head. Then, his eyes shifted upwards, and Naegi flinched as he once again was the center of attention.

But Tanaka ignored him and started fussing over the puppy. Naegi watched him because this was unusual and he didn’t quite get what Tanaka and this puppy were doing here.

( _He felt though, like he was being baited somehow_ )

Tanaka gave the puppy a little shove, and it went scrambling back to Naegi, who caught it with confusion. The puppy squirmed and started trying to wrestle with his arm.

Tanaka shuffled closer. Naegi stiffened. The Breeder still wasn’t looking directly at him. It both made him feel better, and creeped him out. Really though, he was just thankful that the side of Tanaka with that hand was not facing him –

And he’d thought about it again.

He shuddered. He wondered if they had started to decay. If they would at all. Would they smell like his hoodie had?

And suddenly, Tanaka was _touching him_ –

Wait. False alarm. Tanaka had only been reaching over to pet the puppy.

He watched Tanaka through narrowed eyes. What did he want? Why a puppy? Wasn’t a bear enough? Tanaka was seemingly ignoring him, but Naegi could sense those little glances his way, and he hadn’t failed to notice Tanaka had shuffled closer to him. It was a bit insulting to have Tanaka treat him like a skittish animal –

Oh.

That train of thought changed everything. The puppy wasn’t a gift, or just a cute playmate. It was a bribe. _Bait_. Tanaka was trying to lure him out like a shy animal, trying to use that puppy as a distraction as he gradually moved into Naegi’s personal bubble. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think about that. Was he supposed to be insulted? Grateful? He . . . he didn’t know. He tried to imagine what Komaeda would think, but all he could picture was that vague smile ordering him to figure out the puzzle. And Mikan . . .

 _They miss you_.

Did they? The world seemed to sway. Is that what it was? Was this Tanaka’s apology? Was this . . . safe? That concept seemed to be too much to grasp, slipping out of his focus like soap, so that he couldn’t dwell on that thought long enough to decide. Safe . . . They wouldn’t hurt him. Ultimate Despair loved him . . .

_The **eye** . . ._

Though he was already on the end of the bed, he found a little more space to scamper backwards. The message was unmistakable. Tanaka began to reach out, but then his arm fell back to his side. Tanaka brought his knees up to his chest, mimicking Naegi’s position.

He could see them now. The two dead fingers on Tanaka’s hand. They were disgusting to look at; the length too short, the skin greyish and hard-looking like stone. Stitches held them in place, and Naegi wondered what would happen if they failed. His eye began to throb and Naegi couldn’t help but cover it and look away.

Yes . . . That was right. Tanaka would have helped them. Tanaka would have gouged out his eye. ( _Had it hurt to cut off those fingers?_ ) He was one of _them_. Like Kuzuryu. Like Nevermind. They were sick, all of them.

Tanaka caught his eye. Over the head of the panting puppy, the Breeder gave him a small smile –

Naegi jerked his head away. Tanaka wasn't like. . . He didn’t know. They would have hurt him. They were Despair. They were dangerous.

_But he saw those grey-purple eyes in his mind and as he pictured Tanaka’s face now, the red seemed to peel away and –_

He felt dizzy. He didn’t know what to do. Tanaka was one of them, and he was dangerous. But it wasn’t his fault. Enoshima had done that to him. And Naegi was . . . He was Hope. He was the cure, so wasn’t he supposed to help?

He . . .

That was his purpose. Hope.

He buried his head in his arms.

He heard Tanaka sigh. The Breeder sat with him in silence, and then the bed creaked as he stood. He took the puppy with him, walking halfway across the floor before stopping to look back. Naegi kept perfectly still, waiting until Tanaka walked out of the room. Then, he finally remembered he needed to _breathe._

He wished someone would tell him what to do already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi is introduced to an alternate interpretation of what happened a few chapters ago.


	59. The Lunch

He didn’t know where he was going. He had started walking aimlessly, gaze drifting over blank walls that never seemed to end. He walked with a slow, swaying gait, one hand on the wall to guide his way. He almost looked like he was lost.

His adventure being as random and pointless as it was, it was sheer chance that he ran into Komaeda. Unlike him, Komaeda walked as though he had somewhere important to go, but that apparently went to pieces when Naegi waddled into his sight. The Luckster had immediately read the dazed absent-mindedness there, put on a bright a smile, and closed the distance between them.

“Where are you off to?” Komaeda asked. Hands on his hips, he stared down at Naegi in a way that was reminiscent of a father watching their wandering toddler.

Naegi shrugged.

Komaeda was still smiling, and his expression took on a fond edge. “Are you bored? I was coming to see you later, you know.”

It was such a normal conversation. He liked it. He leaned his weight into Komaeda, so that his chin was tucked in and his head resting against Komaeda’s chest. Komaeda patted his back; his other hand ruffled Naegi’s hair.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You seem a little off.”

“. . . I don’t know what to do,” Naegi said. “It’s confusing.”

“What is?”

“ _Everything_ ,” he said, unable to think of something more helpful to say. “They were going to help Kuzuryu-kun. They wanted to take out my eye. But I’m supposed to help them, and Mikan says they’re all wondering why I’m hiding and they miss me. I don’t know what to do.”

He looked up at Komaeda with pleading eyes. He wanted to hear Komaeda’s thoughts. He wanted to hear what Komaeda thought he should do.

Komaeda looked around. Naegi mimicked him; apart from the soldier following him, it was just them.

“Naegi-kun, be careful,” Komaeda said. “I know you and Mikan have spent a lot of time together, but you have to be careful. Don’t let her fool you.”

A pang of defensive affection forced him to speak. “What are you talking about? Mikan wouldn’t try to trick me.”

“Naegi-kun . . .” Komaeda spoke through gritted teeth. He sunk down to Naegi’s eye level, and squeezed his shoulders when he spoke next. “You can’t trust her blindly. She’s not safe. She’s dangerous.”

“Are we talking about the same person?”

It was meant to be a joke, for he thought Komaeda was joking. But Komaeda’s expression remained serious and as the seconds ticked by without laughter, Naegi’s smile fell from his face.

“Why are you saying this? It’s _Mikan_. She’s not dangerous at all.” He put his hands on Komaeda’s wrist, ready to push his hands off, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to. Better to keep those hands where he knew where they were, where they couldn’t catch him by surprise.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Komaeda said. “She had me fooled, too. But she’s not like that. You can’t trust her.”

Naegi shook his head. “No, that isn’t right. Mikan would never do anything to harm me. She would never try to hurt me!”

Komaeda scoffed. “Are you sure about that? You haven’t forgotten what happened a week ago, have you?”

He searched his memories, but he couldn’t remember Mikan doing anything bad recently. Quite the opposite really. So, when he denied Komaeda’s accusations, he did so with complete honesty. It was bad, because it was obvious Komaeda didn’t like that answer and Naegi feared he was getting mad; but Mikan was one of his best friends, and she would never hurt him . . .

“I was afraid of this,” Komaeda said.

That sounded bad. That sounded disappointed – _dangerous_. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. Those words, they were like a preclude to a punishment, and Naegi wasn’t even sure what he had done wrong or how to fix it –

“I’ll walk you through what I’m trying to say,” Komaeda said.

Walk him through it . . .? Yes, that could work. He could probably figure out what he was doing wrong.

“Before I do though, there’s something I need to ask.” Komaeda’s grey eyes caught his in an inescapable vice. “Who was it that told you to hide during Enoshima’s funeral?”

And they were right back in the punishment zone again.

His throat was dry. He opened and closed his mouth several times. Kamukura had been very clear in his instructions: stay under the bed; stay quiet; do not tell Komaeda. Did that still apply? Had Kamukura expected him to keep this secret indefinitely?

. . . And what could he possibly tell Komaeda? All thoughts of lying dried up as Komaeda stared him down. The gears in his mind had stopped turning, fixating on that single command: Don’t tell Komaeda. Don’t tell Komaeda. _Don’t tell Komaeda!_

( _If he couldn’t tell the truth, what could he say? Nothing else would placate him ~~and he was scared, oh god he was scared~~_ )

“Hey, it’s okay,” Komaeda said. Naegi wasn’t sure when Komaeda had started hugging him. “It’s fine. You don’t need to say anything.”

“Are you sure?” Naegi asked.

“Yep. You made it pretty obvious. . . Don’t worry about it.”

A disaster adverted. He closed his eyes, and basked in the warmth of the hug.

“You remember what they wanted to do with her eye, right?” Komaeda asked.

His back seized up, but he nodded.

“Alright, and after _someone_ told you to hide, where did you go?”

“Under Iwata-kun’s bed,” he said. Komaeda must have already known that. Where were they going with this?

“Good. And when you crawled out from under there, do you remember who you saw?”

“Kamukura-kun.”

Komaeda hesitated. “Other than him.”

“You,” Naegi said. He still had no idea where they were going with this.

“Right. I was locked up. Why was I locked up again?”

“They were mad because . . . you weren’t going to let them take my eye.”

“Right. Now, let me ask you this.”

Their foreheads touched.

“Naegi-kun, why wasn’t Mikan there with me?”

Naegi said nothing.

“You see it now, don’t you?” Komaeda asked. “She didn’t do what I did. She didn’t try to help you.”

“No!” He tore out of Komaeda’s grasp. “No, that isn’t true. She’s the one who got rid of it, wasn’t she? She’s not like them!”

“When I stood up for you and tried to make them see reason, do you know what she did? Nothing. She just stood there and watched. How is that any better than what the others did?” Komaeda snapped. “Do you think she would have stood up for you? Do you think she would have stood her ground against the others like I did for you?”

“She wouldn’t . . . Mikan wouldn’t have let them, She’s not like that . . .”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe she didn’t want it to happen. But apparently, she still doesn’t care enough to actually do anything when it counts!”

 _It’s not like that!_ he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He stayed quiet, backing up step by step as Komaeda unintentionally herded him into a wall.

“You can’t trust her like that,” Komaeda said fiercely. “She might be your friend, but she isn’t on your side. None of them all! They all care about despair more. About _her_ more!”

He cupped Naegi’s cheek.

“Don’t forget why you’re here. Why they left you alive. You’re Enoshima’s kid to them. That’s all you are.”

“No!” he blurted out, voice high and reedy. “I’m not . . . That isn’t who I am!”

“I know.” With his free hand, Komaeda ran his fingers through Naegi’s hair, calming him. “You are so, _so_ much more than they think you are. You’re _perfect_ , and I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

He cupped both of Naegi’s cheeks now.

“I’d kill her,” he said, and there was an almost-swirling gleam in his eyes. “If she were to come back right now, I’d kill her. I’ve been waiting so long for this, to understand why things had to turn out the way they did . . . It’s so _obvious_ now. In order to gain everything, you have to lose everything first, don’t you? It’s give and take! It’s a balance. That’s how it works. That’s what luck is!”

There was nowhere to flee, nothing to do but look up into Komaeda’s shadowed, downward-turned face. The Luckster’s eyes had dilated wildly, giving him a deranged appearance that matched up perfectly with his ratty hair.

“My luck, your luck . . . they balance each other. Or, maybe they’ve never been separate things to begin with. Intertwined since the beginning . . . that was the greater purpose. Everything was leading up to this.”

He was getting uncomfortable. Not necessarily because of the words – he’d learned to nod and pretend like he understood what Komaeda was saying when he said weird things like this – but because it occurred to him abruptly that Komaeda was too close. You couldn’t even fit a finger between their chests. Komaeda’s knees were pressing into the fleshy part of his thighs. He couldn’t breathe without disturbing the bits of dirt on the other’s shirt.

“So, you can trust me, okay?” Komaeda said. “You can always trust me.”

Naegi was perfectly still. “Of course.”

“I’m the one on your side,” Komaeda said,” not them. They’re dangerous. They’re _Despair_.”

_And he remembered looking into red eyes, seeing them peel back and expose a different colour entirely._

“No,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

“Naegi-kun?” Komaeda backed up a little.

“I . . . I can’t abandon them,” he said. “If . . . if I do . . . then how can I spread Hope?”

Komaeda blinked. Then, his face softened. “You can always spread Hope. You don’t have to cut them out of your life entirely. They’d get suspicious if that happened. Just remember what happened. Remember at the end of the day, who is actually on your side.”

* * *

He continued to wander. Komaeda had left him in front of the trapdoor that would lead down to his room, but Naegi hadn’t been able to bring himself to pry it open. He’d stood there for a while, instead, just staring, before deciding to walk off. He felt light-headed, somehow, as if he weren’t getting enough sleep.

He didn’t see Komaeda again, but he did run into Kuzuryu and Pekoyama. Literally. He had been rounding a corner when the two appeared out of nowhere, and had ended up running smackdab into Pekoyama’s side. The impact was quite hard.

“Where the hell have you been?” Kuzuryu said. “Fuck, I can barely remember the last time I saw you walking around like this.”

Naegi blinked. “I was in my room?”

“Well, get out of there. We didn’t give you a room so you could sit in it all day. The hell you do in there anyways?”

“Umm, nothing?” Naegi struggled to review the last few days. He remembered a lot of sleeping. Crying. But he also recalled quite a bit of sitting and staring into space, or lying in bed and not thinking.

“. . . Seriously? You couldn’t play capture the flag because you were doing nothing?” Kuzuryu rolled his eyes, and turned to Pekoyama. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I . . .”

“That wasn’t permission to speak, Peko!”

Naegi winced at the raised voice. He shuffled his feet and mumbled to the ground, “Sorry I’ve been in my room so much.”

“. . . Fuck it. Grab him.”

His head snapped up, but that allowed was for him to see Pekoyama’s arm snap out and grab his upper arm. It wasn’t a rough grip or overly tight, but it was still firm.

“Kuzuryu-kun!” He swatted at Pekoyama’s hand, but knew it was hopeless when it came to fighting his way out of her grasp. “I-I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I –”

“Here’s the deal!” Kuzuryu stepped right in front of him, giving him a too-clear view of that eyepatch. (Naegi could already feeling himself caving under its weight). “You’re coming to join us for lunch. You’re going to sit there and eat like a normal person, instead of shoveling everything down and running off to your room to do _nothing_. Maybe, we’ll even force you to talk to us and have a fucking conversation. Got it?”

Half-turned into Pekoyama out of anxiety, Naegi nodded.

“Great. Let’s get going.”

Kuzuryu didn’t walk through the building, he strutted. He moved along with his chin raised and chest thrust out, like a hunter ready to show his out-classed competition the prey he had bagged. Or maybe it was better to say he marched along like a general of an army, for Pekoyama sure marched like a soldier. Her every step was precise, often in time with her master’s, despite his shorter limbs. Pekoyama had a weird manner to her stare, too, that seemed as though she registered nothing, yet you could tell she was scanning and evaluating everything within sight. She broke that illusion only once to glance down at Naegi beside her.

“I don’t want to do this,” he muttered.

“The Young Master has requested your presence.”

He slumped. “I know.”

He half-turned into Pekoyama again, grabbed her shoulder and using that as support as he raised himself to his tiptoes. He wasn’t quite at Pekoyama’s ear, but he tried to whisper into it anyways.

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

She looked at him, confused. Naegi glanced at Kuzuryu, and then made a gun with his fingers.

“Don’t worry about that,” she said brusquely.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked.

Naegi made the gun again.

“That?” Pekoyama raised an eyebrow. “You act as though that has never happened before.”

“It has . . . ? But, you’re okay with it? It doesn’t bother you?”

She turned her gaze straight ahead. “He has never pulled the trigger.”

Naegi bit back a grin. He couldn’t resist dancing a little on his tiptoes as he tried to whisper into her ear again.

“See? See, you do see it! He’s still there. The real him is still there.”

Pekoyama yanked him a little, causing him to lose his balance on his tiptoes. As his heels slammed down, she turned her head away. That was bothersome, because if he couldn’t see her face, how could he tell if he had managed to spread Hope?

They arrived early for lunch. Kuzuryu scoped out the scene, then took his customary seat in the middle of the table (waiting, of course, for Pekoyama to pull out the chair for him). He glanced at Naegi, then casually reached over and _yanked_ him down into the adjacent seat. It was unexpected enough that when Naegi landed, the momentum nearly tipped him off the edge. Somehow, he stayed sitting, and he looked sideways and found he was facing the side of Kuzuryu’s face without the eyepatch. That was good.

“How’s the new room?” Kuzuryu asked.

 _Creepy._ “Fine.”

“Good. Cause it wasn’t easy getting our hands on all that stuff. You even thank Sonia and Koizumi yet?”

“N-no.”

“Well, then you can do that once they show up. How about that? A real conversation with someone who ain’t Tsumiki!”

Naegi stared at his hands. “Yeah.”

Thanking someone didn’t sound so bad, but as the Despairs began to pile in one after the other, it felt more and more like Kuzuryu had asked him to jump off a cliff into a pool of lava. He’d already known that he had been in many of the Despair’s thoughts, and apparently, seeing him sitting between Pekoyama and Kuzuryu stirred their curiosity even further. Nevermind, across the table from him, was the worst. She watched him with interest so genuine and _innocent_ that he instinctively began to feel ashamed – even as he feared that she might (cheerfully) order her soldiers to drag him off to her quarters and interrogate him. Tsumiki and Komaeda, among the last to arrive, probably having been looking for him earlier, did a doubletake when they saw who he was sitting with.

Kuzuryu cleared his throat. He nudged Naegi with his elbow.

“Umm, Koizumi-san and Sonia? Thank you for getting the stuff for my room.”

“It was our pleasure,” Nevermind said with a smile. Her hands were laced together in front of her, making her look almost adorable as she tilted her head and her eyes drifted shut.

“If we had known this was going to happen, we would have told the Monokumas to be careful when they raided your neighbourhood months ago.” Head in her hand, Koizumi groaned. “It was a real pain going through all that rubble.”

“Oh, but we learned such interesting things during our adventure.” Nevermind leaned forward. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your big secret.”

It was obvious from the way she spoke and her body language that Nevermind wanted nothing more than for everyone to ask her, to beg her to tell. It was equally obvious that she would receive great satisfaction from denying those requests. Indeed, as she sat back with an air of expectation, Nidai began to speak and she turned to him with a bright smile.

He asked, “Is it worse than how long he wet the bed for?”

Nevermind hesitated. “You told him, Makoto?”

“It was announced on the broadcast. Everyone knows!” Nidai said with a chuckle.

“I see. I must have forgotten that.” Nevermind sighed. “How disappointing.”

Half out of habit, half out of some prehistoric ancestor of sympathy, Naegi said, “You mean how despairing?”

She smiled. “Not quite there.”

There was another hard jab from Kuzuryu’s elbow. Kuzuryu looked at him with his eyebrow raised, silently saying, _See, this isn’t so hard, is it?_

Naegi drew his limbs in closer, and bit his lip.

Just then, Hanamura swooped in behind him. Warm hands grabbed his shoulders. “Naegi-kun, you’ve barely touched your lunch. Is my cooking not up to your standards today?”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I’m just not feeling very hungry.”

A moment after those words passed his lips, he realized what he had said. His eyes widened just in time to catch Tsumiki’s reaction; she had frozen with her fork halfway to her mouth, and the food upon it had already fallen back onto her plate.

“Not hungry?” Nidai echoed. “You feeling okay?”

“He didn’t seem sick to me,” Kuzuryu said.

“Tsumiki-san, he has been eating lately, hasn’t he?” Hanamura asked.

“I . . . I th-think so,” Tsumiki said. “I’ve delivered all his meals or brought him here, and . . . and the food’s always gone later.”

Naegi turned to her desperately. “I’ve been eating properly. I just meant -”

“Naegi, you haven’t been throwing it out, have you?” the Imposter demanded.

He turned the other way. “No! I’m not . . .”

He stopped, blood draining from his face. Next to the Imposter was Komaeda, who had gone very quiet, and was watching him very closely.

“That’s not what I meant!” His voice was nearly high enough to break windows. “I just . . . I was distracted, that’s all! I haven’t eaten anything yet because I was thinking about something else?”

“Like what?” Nidai asked.

“I . . . I was . . . I was worried Sonia and Koizumi-san might be mad that I hadn’t thank them yet!”

It seemed like a sigh of relief went around the table.

“Is that all?” Nevermind said. “I must say, it is upsetting that you would believe I would be upset by something so petty.”

“I’m sure Naegi-kun wasn’t trying to offend you,” Komaeda said. “He’s naturally a very polite person.”

“Yes, I have noticed that. In that case, please do not worry, Makoto. We forgive you.”

Koizumi gave him a thumbs-up. “Yep. No problems here.”

“Makoto,” Nevermind said slowly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why have you been avoiding us?”

This time, he was the one who froze with a fork halfway to his mouth.

“So, you are avoiding us,” Nevermind murmured. As usual, she spoke with that genuine softness that made him feel bad for not immediately telling her his entire life’s story.

“It’s not . . . I’m just trying to deal with things,” Naegi mumbled. He was at a loss. How could he say enough that they wouldn’t think he was lying, but keep enough back that they wouldn’t understand why he was acting his way?

“What? Is something giving you trouble? Tell me what it is, and I’ll pound its face in!” Owari said, driving a fist into her other palm.

“Is there, in fact, something wrong with your room?” Nevermind asked.

“It’s nothing like that,” Naegi said.

“Whatever it is, there’s no need to be ashamed,” Nevermind said kindly. “I assure you, none of us. . .”

While she had been speaking, she reached across the table and brushed his hand.

With _that_ hand.

She touched his hand.

 _That_ hand touched him.

He screamed.

Had Enoshima’s detached hand been capable of feeling, he probably would have hurt Nevermind with how hard he swatted it away. Either way, the hand flopped grossly at the wrist as the smack rang through the air. Naegi dove sideways, landing on the edge of Pekoyama’s chair, and grabbed her. (It was a good thing she was so surprised, or she probably would have punched him in self-defence).

“M-Makoto?” Nevermind’s left hand, unable to feel pain, was still flopped over at the wrist.

Tsumiki was cringing. “Umm, maybe we should –”

“Hey, Sonia!” Kuzuryu tilted his fedora up to look at the Princess better. “You guys sterilized that thing, right?”

“Yes.”

Kuzuryu turned to Naegi with a grin. “See, there you go! You’re not going to be catching any flesh-eating diseases.”

Naegi grit his teeth. Pekoyama’s hand was on his shoulder.

“Oh, dear.” Nevermind was staring at her dead hand. “That’s right, you never saw the preparations. Not to worry, Fuyuhiko is correct. We do not have to worry about diseases. It is perfectly safe –”

But as Nevermind raised that hand, it had moved towards Naegi as if to touch him again, and Naegi reacted accordingly. He somehow managed to burrow under Pekoyama’s arm, placing it between him and the hand, and his clenched teeth and wide-eyed stare left no illusions as to why he had done that.

“Don’t. . . Don’t touch me,” he said. “Not with _that_.”

She looked hurt.

“You that bummed out about not getting your own part?” Kuzuryu asked.

The question hit him like a ton of bricks. To Kuzuryu, it was probably a genuine question. To him, it was an accusation. As if he _had_ gotten the eye, and his classmates were standing around and asking why he would do something that horrible.

“No. . .” he croaked. “No, no . . .”

“Look, just fucking apologize and we’ll call it a night –”

“ _No_!”

He lashed out. His cup went spinning, tipping and spilling a cloud of liquid across the tabletop. It was enough to stop Kuzuryu’s rebuke in its tracks. Naegi was faintly aware he was wailing; he was more concerned with the cramp in his belly that forced him to hunch over.

“Don’t you get it?” he sobbed. “Why don’t you understand? You . . . you took _pieces_ of her, and you attached them to yourselves . . . Why? Why would you do that to yourself? _Why would you do that_?”

They were leaning away from him. Even Pekoyama looked like she wanted to push Naegi back onto his own chair. Only Tsumiki did not lean away, and she was too busy hiding behind her arms to help. Ultimate Despair did not understand. Perhaps Ultimate Despair _could_ not understand. But they did, however, understand that _he_ was upset, and that they somehow were the root cause.

“It’s . . . Look, Naegi-kun.” Nidai was trying to smile, though the expression was tinged with uncertainty. “It’s just our way of making sure her memory lives on. We weren’t trying to disrespect her.”

“You cut her up!” he shrieked. “You cut her up and glued bits of her to yourself and . . . you don’t do that! People don’t do that!”

“Just a few pieces!” Nidai said, hands raised as if to contain Naegi’s shouts. “There was still enough of her for the cremation. Well, there would have been . . .”

“It doesn’t matter how much was left,” he said. “That’s not the point! Cutting her up and sticking her to yourself is the point!”

“Aww, but it’s for despair!” Owari said, shakily trying to give him a thumbs-up. “It’s like with the butter and –”

“She still put him in the biology lab with the others!” Naegi shouted. “She didn’t cut him up, and . . . and smear him all over herself.”

His chest burned. His shouts began to die, leaving his throat itchy and dry. His fists were on the table, but he didn’t remember slamming them down.

“It’s wrong,” he said, unable to explain any further.

An awkward silence filled the room. He shuffled back into his own seat, refusing to meet anyone’s eye. Not that anyone seemed keen to meet his, either. Tsumiki was staring into her cup. Komaeda was looking around, stretching uncomfortably. Even Pekoyama, who must have been as upset by Kuzuryu’s decision as he was, stared straight ahead.

“Umm, did we mess up?” Owari asked.

Naegi looked up sharply.

“Not much we can do about it now,” Koizumi said. “I mean, what’s done is done, right?”

“Yes, that seems correct,” Nevermind said. She was staring at her transplanted hand, picking at one of the nails.

“Uh, sorry, Naegi-kun,” Nidai said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we should have told you ahead of time.”

Were they . . .?

“I warned you,” the Imposter said. “You should have run it by him, first. This could have been all avoided if you had just listened to me.”

They . . .

“You don’t need to rub it in,” Soda said before he turned to Naegi. “Uh, so, sorry about that.”

They were . . . sorry?

“Fuck. Yeah, okay. We fucked up. Just . . . we weren’t trying to upset you, okay?” Kuzuryu said. His words were aggressive, but he was red in the face.

They regretted it?

“It’s that idiot’s fault for hiding you in the first place!” Saionji said, glaring at Komaeda. “If you were there, you would have been able to say something.”

They would have listened?

“Hah! Ibuki read the script in advance and avoided this part!” Mioda said, eyes sparkling. She was right next to Tanaka, and her fist pump triggered him to look down at those two fingers, and then hide them in his scarf.

“We all could have used a look at that script,” Hanamura said.

Naegi stared. They were sorry?

They . . .

. . . They understood they’d done something wrong?

Nevermind’s living hand slammed down. “On behalf of Ultimate Despair and on my honour as queen of Novoselic, I would like to extend a formal apology to you, Prince Makoto, for any emotional distress and damage we may have caused you.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Kuzuryu said. He seemed to be fighting with himself. “We weren’t trying to make you cry or shit. So, yeah . . . sorry.”

Time froze. Kuzuryu’s final word echoed again and again and again. He had apologized – _they_ had apologized. They regretted it. They _agreed_ they had done wrong.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice hoarse with amazement. “I . . . I forgive you guys.”

He could see the relief sweep over the table, radiating outwards like a ripple. Somehow, Naegi kept his face neutral as he observed this, at least until he met Komaeda’s eyes ( _ ~~See what I did? Was that Hope?)~~_

Naegi leaned back with a dazed smile. Maybe, just maybe, Enoshima’s hold on them wasn’t as tight as he feared.

Maybe . . .

He looked down the table, met Tsumiki’s eyes and for a moment, purple-grey flashed over the red.

. . . Maybe he could win, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked why Komaeda no longer trusting his classmates was a bad thing. This is why.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Koizumi finally gets the spotlight.


	60. The Photographer

“Koizumi-san? Koizumi-san, are you there?”

Naegi looked up and down the hall. Then, once again, he knocked on Koizumi’s door. The Monokuma he’d asked had told him she was in her room, yet nobody appeared to be answering the door. Of all the members of Ultimate Despair, Koizumi was the one he knew barely anything about. That was no longer acceptable.

He was about to give up, to leave, when the door creaked open. A slit of light appeared in the doorframe and in the middle of it, a slice of face. That was most he caught of Koizumi’s room, for she opened and closed the door in a blur, and soon stood outside it and before him.

“Naegi? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to know if you wanted to hang out,” he said. “We haven’t spent a lot of time together.”

“Sure, sounds fine. What do you want to do?”

“. . . I haven’t really thought that far ahead.”

“Seriously?” Hands on her hip, Koizumi glared down at him. “You drag me out of my room and you don’t even know what you want to do? Don’t people say you’re the reliable one?”

He winced. “Just my sister –”

Oh no.

He looked up slowly, afraid of what he’d find. Koizumi still had her hands on her hip, looking like his mom, but her face seemed to be twitching. His eyes darted this way and that, searching for a distraction, but there didn’t seem to be anything but –

“Can I come inside?” he blurted out. “We can hang out in your room, and talk, and get to know each other better!”

“I g-guess.” There was a dusting of red on her cheeks. “But you better not have any ulterior motives!”

The room was dark when she opened the door, enough so that Naegi had a hard time seeing anything inside. He stepped over the threshold, and then moved aside for her to follow. She walked down the wall a little, towards what must have been a switch.

The lights turned on, flashing white in his vision. Naegi blinked rapidly, waiting for his eyes to adjust. . .

What . . .?

What was this?

There was no furniture. Just a mass of blankets in the very center of the room that must have served as a bed, and a few suitcases in the corner that held her belongings. The rest of the room was bare. The walls were a multitude of colours though, and at first, he thought it to be wallpaper. Then, he happened to focus on the bit of the wall next to him, and found his previous conclusion to be very, very wrong. For it wasn’t wallpapers plastered to those walls, but photos. Hundreds, upon hundreds of photos, many clones of each other. And what they showed was, in a word, horrendous. That being said, he had actually expected worse. Once he saw there were photos, he had expected them to show something akin to Kuzuryu had done to those Future Foundation agents. However, for the murder victims he saw in these photos, the methods used to execute them seem rather tame. Amateurish, almost, in some cases.

“Anything in particular you want to talk about?” Koizumi asked, standing nearby.

Naegi gulped. He tugged at the bottom of a photo, and found it was stapled to the wall.

“Did you take these?” he asked.

In some ways, it was the right question to ask. Koizumi brightened, and strode over to stand next to him. “Some of them. Most of them, I guess. There’s a few I didn’t take.”

“Why did you put them up?”

She smiled. “Because they’re important to me. They’re all important.”

She stroked the edge of the picture Naegi had tugged on. The victim in this one was a green-haired girl. The body was slumped against a wall with a bloody bat next to her, almost as if the perpetrator hadn’t cared enough to try and cover her death up.

“This is Sato,” Koizumi told him. Her face was a picture of perfect happiness as she said, “She’s my best friend.”

“You . . .” Naegi took a step back. “You did that?”

“Huh?” She looked at him, confused. “Oh, this isn’t one of the photos I took. It was sent to me anonymously.”

“Th-that wasn’t what I meant . . .”

“ _Oh_. No, that wasn’t me either.” She frowned. “I never found out who did it.”

“She was just murdered.” That felt worse, somehow. To learn that this girl hadn’t been killed by her crazy, Enoshima-brainwashed friend, but instead by a random murderer. It was a reminder, in some ways, that Ultimate Despair was not the first evil to walk the earth.

“I didn’t take that photo, but I took these ones!”

She grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him along to another wall. They stopped in front of a cluster of photos, all focused around the same three people. The murder method seen here was again, simple. Gunshots to the head. He recognized the signs right away.

“This was my work. Set up the scene and everything,” Koizumi said, almost proudly. She chuckled. “It’s funny looking back on it now, remembering how much I struggled. I threw up afterwards, and even tried faking the first photo so I didn’t have to do it.”

“You didn’t want to do it,” Naegi said quietly. Though he knew he should feel bad for the people in those photos, his current pity only seemed to be directed towards the girl smiling at him.

“No, I didn’t. But,” her eyes began to swirl, “Enoshima-san knows how to give you encouragement. The kind you can’t resist.”

She grabbed his wrist, and yanked it forward so that his pointer finger landed on a photo.

“That’s part of the first set she sent me!” Koizumi said. Naegi squinted. The man in these photos . . . he wasn’t dead. He was clearly in distress and bound to a chair, but he was alive.

“Who is that?” he asked.

“My father.” Koizumi started laughing. “And this is the photo she sent me after I tried faking the shot!”

It was another picture of her father. This time, he was on the ground, mouth open in a permanent scream. Next to him, lay his severed hand.

She said, “I didn’t expect her to see through the fake. But, well, she was the one who kidnapped those men so I could get the shots in the first place. I shouldn’t have been too surprised.”

“You shot them after, didn’t you?” Naegi said. “After you realized you couldn’t trick her.”

“I did,” Koizumi said, “and here was my reward.”

There was a line of photos, close together, all similar, like a set of slides in an animation. It was Koizumi’s father, tied to a chair. Throat slit and blood shooting out like a geyser.

“I didn’t see that coming,” Koizumi said cheerfully. “If something like that happened now, I would expect it, but back then, I hadn’t even met her yet.”

“I’m . . .”

Naegi let his words trail off. He wanted to apologize, but that seemed to be the last thing Koizumi wanted. She was tearing up, but also smiling as she wiped her eyes, and the swirls were spinning so fast it made him dizzy. She stroked the pictures of her tortured and dead father fondly, as if they were portraits of an old family pet.

“. . . I felt like my mother, you know.” Koizumi looked at him. “She was a war photographer. Always off and taking pictures of horrible things. I hardly even saw . . . She used to set up scenes like this, too! It’s so much easier than waiting for the photos you want.”

“You’re saying that she killed people so she could take photos of them?”

“Yes!”

“Why would you think that?”

Her eyes seemed to glow. “Enoshima-san told me!”

 _She’s lying_ , he wanted to say. _She only wanted to break you. That’s why she did it_.

But he said none of that, and meekly nodded. Koizumi pulled him along, and began giving him a rundown of other photos, though none of them seemed as personal as the ones he had already seen.

“These were actually videotaped. I took stills of the shots I really liked,” Koizumi said. She was pointing at another cluster of photos, centered around the same two people. They were a middle-aged couple, wrinkled, blonde-haired, not someone he expected to be native to Japan. While the set of photos started innocently (at least innocent for Ultimate Despair) with the two bound and gagged, they quickly became more and more gruesome. He couldn’t follow the silent story to the end.

“It’s a shame Sonia couldn’t hang up her copies,” Koizumi said with a sigh. “But I’m not sure even she would be to explain that to her country.”

It took him a few seconds to catch on. “These were Sonia’s parents?”

“Yep. Sonia and Enoshima-san were figuring out how to destroy Europe and, well, Sonia knows her parents best. She told Enoshima-san there wasn’t any possibility to bring them around. Besides, even if there was, it’s not like we intended for them to survive to the end, especially when killing them would give Sonia and the world so much despair. So, Enoshima-san had a brilliant idea to use a false flag operation. She turned some foreigners to Despair, and then Sonia’s parents just _happened_ to fall into an ambush and get captured by them. Guess what happened next?”

He smacked his lips, wishing he had water for his dry throat. “They were tortured.”

“On live television!” Koizumi said proudly. “Sonia arranged for Despair to get access to all the television stations in her country.”

He could imagine how that had been received by the public.

Koizumi went on. “A day or so later, someone just _happened_ to discover where the torture was being filmed, and Sonia sent the army to save her parents. Everyone watched it live as the soldiers busted down the doors and stormed inside. . .”

Well, although he knew that Nevermind’s parents had passed away in the end, at least they had received that bit of solace –

“And that’s when we set off the bombs!”

Of course. He should have figured Ultimate Despair would do something like that.

“Nothing like a little moment of hope before you unleash the despair!” Koizumi nudged him as she said that, and Naegi did his best not to pull away. “Sonia’s people were _furious_. People of all countries were! Especially when the nationality of the murderers got out, and their prime minister confirmed he sent them –”

“He did _what_?” Naegi cried. “I thought Ultimate Despair –”

“It was the Imposter,” Koizumi said flippantly. “We’d already taken care of the real prime minister. Really, I wish you had been there. It was _perfect_. Not quite a war across the entirety of Europe, but pretty darn close. Kuzuryu had gotten control over the mafia too, and they started selling weapons everywhere, and Nidai and Mioda-san were starting riots every week and . . . it was paradise. I miss our glory days, sometimes.”

He had come here to learn more about Koizumi, to understand what drove her. Now, he felt he had done too good a job. That he knew too much.

 _I should announce some kind of despair limit_ , he thought dully. He knew better than to try, though; there was no telling whether people like Owari or Nidai might take exceeding that as a personal challenge.

“Did you take pictures of what happened after the king and queen died, too?” he asked, more just because he wanted to say something than from actual curiosity.

“No,” she said. “It was some of the best despair we ever caused, but it wasn’t _important_ , you know. At least not to me, personally.”

“I think I understand,” he said, looking back at a picture of her murdered father. “Did you ever find your mother?”

For a moment, something like a frown flickered across her face.

“No. We didn’t.”

“Did you want to?”

Once again, he saw something there. Her emotions seemed to fight among themselves for a while, before settling into something cheery. Lazy swirls filled her eyes as she laughed.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s despair either way. But I do wonder sometimes . . . do you think she would like my photos?”

His throat seized up–

_Of course, she would! I mean, you’re the Ultimate Photographer for a reason, aren’t you? How couldn’t she love them? She’s a photographer, too, so she’ll only appreciate it more –_

_Of course, not. How could she? How could anyone who ever cared about you be happy with what you’ve turned into –?_

“I don’t know,” he said.

“I thought men were supposed to decisive,” she scoffed. “But, I guess that’s a fair answer. You never knew her. I barely did either.”

With that, Koizumi sat down cross-legged in front of the wall featuring her dead parent. She sighed dreamily, head in her hands as she stared at her photos. Naegi, looming above her, turned his head away.

“I think I’m going to head out now,” he said.

Koizumi waved him away. “Sure, go ahead.”

He did so. Just before he left, when his hand was still on the doorknob, he looked back. Koizumi sat alone in her bare room, just staring at the images of death and misery in front of her. And although she did this by choice, although Naegi knew that inside, she was enjoying this in a sickening, obsessive way . . .

. . . He still pitied her.

Having reached his abstract despair limit for the day, Naegi pointed his feet in the direction of his room. A steady clock ticked in his head, counting down the seconds until . . . Oh, there was his Monokuma follower! It was a shame he hadn’t brought the Kuzuryu mask with him; although it was probably a bad idea, he was tempted to see what would happen if he put the mask on in front of a Monokuma.

He amused himself by imagining funny outcomes to that event until he reached the trapdoor. He reached down, pulled it up . . . and then blinked. He had just happened to glance behind him and present were, not one, but _two_ Monokumas. Both of them stared at him. Just stared.

Weird, but not concerning. They were only dumb robots.

He went down the stairs, reached to pull the trapdoor shut . . . but not before one of the robots hopped in after him. Naegi stared at it, waiting for it to realize where it was and try to get out, but the robot didn’t do that. In fact, it . . . started hopping down the steps. _Without him_.

This was getting very weird.

He followed the robot. He couldn’t think of why it would behave this way. Maybe Kamukura had overrode its orders? But why would he do that? He supposed it could be one of the others, trying to deliver something to him. When he reached the bottom landing and the robot was standing in the middle of the room, already facing him. As he stepped forward, its head and body tilted back, keeping his face in sight.

“Uh, does someone have a message for me?” he asked.

The Monokuma stared at him.

Its red eye flickered.

“. . . Nae . . . Nae-gi . . . Nae- “

The words came through a storm of static. The words were quiet but echoing, almost like the speaker was calling to him from across a great distance.

“Are you broken?” Naegi asked.

 “My . . . my name . . .”

“I know what it is. It’s Monokuma.” He rubbed his forehead. Looked like he had indeed found a broken robot. No wonder it hadn’t stopped following him when he reached his room. If anything, it probably didn’t realize Naegi was indeed, in his room, and thought he still needed supervision.

“My name . . .”

He felt bad for it. While something seemed to be wrong with its general programming, it seemed that there was a problem with its voice generator, too. Technically, when it did speak, the sounds it made were distinct, but it was having way too much trouble forming simple sentences, almost like it was fighting against something else.

Naegi crouched down in front of it, and patted its head. “Hey, I’ll call Soda-kun, okay? He’ll fix you.”

It was silly trying to reassure a robot, but he couldn’t stop himself. They were kind of cute, when you ignored their murderous tendencies. He turned –

Monokuma grabbed his leg.

“Al . . . Alt . . .”

Naegi groaned. “I’m going to get you help –”

“Alter . . . Alter Ego.”

Naegi stopped.

“Wh-what did you say?”

There was nothing but the sound of static. The Monokuma looked up at him, tilting its head to one side like a curious child.

Then, in words quiet and echoing but _clear_ , it spoke.

“. . . My name is Alter Ego.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fun thing about AIs? _They can be installed in multiple places_.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> The strange Monokuma struggles to convince Naegi he's telling the truth.


	61. The Trojan Horse

All was silent.

“. . . That’s not funny,” Naegi said. “Did . . . did Kuzuryu-kun tell you to say that? I bet he’d think it was funny. Especially if he was planning to blow you up afterwards. Or maybe Soda-kun named you. He always names some of you . . .”

The robot shook its head. Well, that’s what that gesture was supposed to mean, he guessed. Monokumas had always been thick-necked, and could only turn their heads a limited amount, resulting in the robot swaying from side to side with its turning head.

“N-no . . . I am Alter Ego.”

“No, you’re not,” Naegi said. “Alter Ego’s dead.”

He turned away, fully intent on marching up the stairs, so he could get Soda to come take care of this stray –

But the Monokuma grabbed his pants. “Please, listen! Our friends sent me to find you. They asked me to deliver –”

“You’re not Alter Ego,” he said again. He took an involuntary step back. Then another. He kept going until his back hit the wall, and he slid down it. The Monokuma tottered closer.

“I’m not? I-I’m sorry, Naegi-kun. I didn’t realize I had evolved so much from my original programming. What would you like my designation to be now?”

It was still playing that game with him. He looked around, half-expecting to see someone laughing at him. This Monokuma couldn’t be Alter Ego. That wasn’t possible. Yet, one thing he couldn’t deny was that this Monokuma was speaking to him with more intelligence and self-awareness than should have been possible. Maybe someone was controlling it directly, like Enoshima had controlled her Monokuma.

“Who’s controlling you?” Naegi demanded. “This really isn’t funny.”

“Master has passed away,” the Monokuma said quietly. Its voice switched over from that static-filled, choppy voice it had started with, to the robotic drone he was familiar with. “My current commands come from Kirigiri Kyoko.”

He was glad he was sitting down. If he hadn’t been, his legs surely would have given out. That answer, that _name_ , was an arrow straight to his heart, and it stung like one, too. It hadn’t been funny before. It was gut-wrenching now.

He laughed bitterly. “Did they want to see me despair? Tell them mission accomplished, I guess.”

Monokuma shook its head again. “Please, you have to believe me!”

He looked up into those flat, dead eyes; into that shiny, robotic face incapable of expression . . .

“Prove it,” he said. “When Kirigiri-san and I tried to help Alter Ego hack into the school’s network, how did we smuggle him into the hidden room?”

“You hid me under your hoodie,” Monokuma said easily.

What little calm he had was sucked away.

A cold sweat broke over his forehead. That was the right answer, and there hadn’t been an ounce of hesitation. It was like . . . like the Monokuma knew what he would ask in advance. Had it? He looked around again. Could someone have anticipated what he was going to ask? Surely, Kamukura could, but Naegi couldn’t see him playing this kind of prank. But Komaeda . . . Komaeda was smart. Could it have been him . . .?

“You said you had orders,” Naegi said. “What were they?”

The Monokuma saluted. “Kirigiri Kyoko asked me to deliver something to you.”

“A delivery?” he said in wonder. He didn’t understand. The theory of an ‘Alter-Ego’ and Kirigiri prank had been bad enough, but at least it would have an understandable purpose behind it. A delivery, however, did not fit that theory so simply.

He asked, “What is it?”

Monokuma returned to that robotic drone. “Please follow these instructions. Unscrew the screws holding my head in place.”

Naegi squinted. Monokuma wanted him to take his head off?

“I don’t have a screwdriver,” he said.

“Oh.” The Monokuma bowed its head a little, as if it could actually feel disappointed.

“Stay here,” Naegi said. “I’ll get one.”

Why was he taking this thing seriously? Well, he wasn’t really. He knew it wasn’t Alter Ego. Part of him suspected that this was all an elaborate trap, that Ultimate Despair was gathering evidence to prove he wasn’t one of them. But they wouldn’t do that, would they? He hadn’t given them any recent reason to think he was unfaithful, had he?

He shook such thoughts off. Maybe it was a trap, but maybe they wanted him to accept the delivery. Who knew with Ultimate Despair? Sometimes, they were very confusing.

Finding a screwdriver was easy. All he did was walk into Soda’s workshop, where the Mechanic was busy fixing up the last of the damage to one of the Monokuma-making machines, and grab one. When he returned to his room, the Monokuma was waiting. It was sitting on his bed, ignoring the constant pokes from a curious Kuma, who seemed determined to rock it until it fell over.

“Unscrew the screws holding my head in place,” the Monokuma said upon seeing him. With a sigh, Naegi kneeled down next to it, and did as it said.

The ‘skull’ came off easily. Almost too easily. As if it had been prepared ahead of time. He peered inside. He saw exactly what he expected to see: a bunch of electronics and no way to understand them. But there was a hollowed area, as well. Not a large one. Inside that hollow, appeared to be something long and shiny. Naegi reached for the object, pulled it out, turned it over –

It fell from his fingers.

It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t possible.

“It is unlocked,” Monokuma said. “Please access its contents.”

His arm shook so badly, he had to hold it still with the other one. His body had stiffened, leaving his fingers unable to straighten out completely. Those gnarled fingers reached, curled around the object . . .

And Naegi picked up the cellphone.

“Please go to the ‘Contacts’ section of the phone,” Monokuma said.

He obeyed. There was only one number there. He didn’t wait for Monokuma’s prompt. He dialed it.

_Ring . . ._

He held the phone to his ear.

 _Ring_. . .

The world itself held its breath.

_Ring –_

_Click_.

There was only his breathing. Naegi readjusted his grip on the phone, getting it as close to his ear as possible.

“H-hello?” he said.

Nothing –

“Naegi-kun?”

And his world imploded.

The phone slipped between his fingers again. The Monokuma tried to grab it, but ended up tilting forward so fast, so much, that it fell over. Naegi’s eyes remained fixed ahead. Cold fingers walked down his back; his own were still held out, in the same position they had been when he had been holding that phone to his ear. Kirigiri’s voice came from the small device, but Naegi made no move to snatch it up.

“Naegi-kun?” On his stomach, the Monokuma reached forward and patted his ankle. “Please pick up the phone.”

He did. He smacked his hand against the ground to loosen his fingers enough to curl around the phone, but he did.

“H-hello?” he said.

When there wasn’t an instantaneous answer, he panicked. Had she hung up? Had he damaged it? Had he ruined his one and only chance -?

“Naegi-kun, is that you?”

He gasped. His free hand covered his mouth, holding back the keen threatening to escape.

“Y-yes. Yes! I am!”

He panted into the phone. Now, he clutched it with both hands, keeping it as close as possible, paranoid it would be ripped away from him. Even the Monokuma that had given it to him seemed like a potential threat.

“Naegi-kun, are you somewhere safe? Should we be having his conversation now?”

“Yes, yes!” His voice was a high squeal. “This is a good time. We can talk. We can talk as long as you want, Kirigiri-san!”

Once again, there was no immediate answer. Kirigiri, when she spoke, had the air of someone choosing their words carefully.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m fine!” he said brightly. “Everything’s fine. How are you? Are you okay? What about our friends?”

“They’re safe,” Kirigiri said. “We’ve taken up refuge with the Future Foundation. They’re an organization –”

“I know,” he said. “They’re trying to spread Hope, right? They’re Ultimate Despair’s worst enemy.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” she said. “While they do have their problems, they have been able to maintain a steady supply of food and shelter. It isn’t ideal, but we’re safe and comfortable.”

“That’s good,” he said. He was leaning against the wall, phone cradled against his ear. “I worried about you guys, even after I knew you were safe.”

“. . . I see. Naegi-kun, how did you know we were safe?”

“Komaeda-kun told me,” he said. “He had recordings for me to listen to. Really, Kirigiri-san, you’ve been giving me too much credit for Ikusaba’s trial. It’s really not that big of a deal that I decided to trust you.”

“Recordings?” Kirigiri said, completely ignoring the last bit of what he’d said. “What do you mean?”

“Like recordings of you,” Naegi explained. “I got to hear those speeches you made for the Future Foundation, and what you’ve been saying to the other members –”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked sharply.

“I heard what you said to the other Future Foundation members?” he said, confused.

“Are you referring to private conversations I had with them?”

“Yes, I . . . Oh.”

Even though she wasn’t physically present, even though he was the only human in this room, he shrunk into himself anyways, like a dog awaiting a scolding.

“I’m sorry!” he said. “I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t tell anyone! I swear, I never talked about those board meetings or what you –”

“Did you say board meetings?” Kirigiri asked.

“Y-yes. . .” Oh, she was going to be so mad –

“Naegi-kun, you said you were given these recordings. The person who gave them to you, how did he get them?”

“Umm . . .” Naegi chewed on his lower lip, trying to remember. “I think Komaeda-kun said that he got it from someone from the Future Foundation. Yeah, I think he said he had a friend on the inside.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he had said those words aloud, but Kirigiri didn’t follow up with another question or statement. What he did hear, though, was a sharp intake of breath. It puzzled him, but he didn’t ask.

“Umm, Kirigiri-san.” His feet knocked together. He drew them in close, curling into a ball. “I tried to send a message out a while ago . . . I’m not sure how long ago . . . but it was important. It was about my sister . . .”

“I got it,” she said. “We’re taking care of it.”

He was half-tempted to hang up there. To give himself some time and space to collapse and cry his heart out because oh god, _they had heard him_. His friends were safe, and Komaru was going to be safe, and the only missing link were his parents, but surely, they would rescue them, too! He wanted to ask, but he didn’t because of course they were okay, and he didn’t need to worry!

“Naegi-kun, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

He heard her breathe in sharply again.

“Please don’t keep secrets from me,” she said. “I understand you don’t want to worry me, but I need to know what’s going on in there.”

“I’m okay,” he said. “I had some problems with my appetite for a few days, but it’s better now, I swear!”

“That’s . . . Do you have any injuries?”

“No,” he said. “I do have a scar from where Soda-kun hit me, but that was months ago. Really, I’m fine. I’ve been spreading Hope and everything!”

“You’re fine, huh? Then I suppose you are there of you own free will?”

“No!” Did she think he had abandoned them? His eyes widened, and he scrambled onto his knees as if Kirigiri were physically here and he could beg for forgiveness. “No, that’s not what’s happening!”

“I know. Perhaps I’ve been phrasing my questions poorly,” she said. “What are they doing to you? What security and restraints do they have you under? Do you have an idea of where they are holding you within the building? Tell me everything you know.”

“Like the exact location?” He sighed. “I used to have a map, but it got destroyed when Komaeda-kun’s room blew up and I haven’t finished making my new one. Talk about bad luck, right?”

“How did you get your hands on a map?”

“I made it,” Naegi said. “Well, Kamukura-kun did, but he only helped me because I was taking too long. Do you know who he is?”

“No. Is he a double agent?”

“Honestly, I don’t think he’s on anyone’s side,” Naegi said, shrugging with one shoulder. “He kind of just does whatever he wants.”

“Then how did you gather enough insight to create a map?” she pressed. “Somebody must be helping you.”

“No one else helped me. All I did was walk around and draw what I saw,” Naegi said. “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”

“ . . . You _walked_ _around_?”

He understood tone enough to know he had done wrong. She was doing that thing when he gave an answer he wasn’t supposed to, and they repeated what he said in an incredulous tone. Instantly, his mind went into overdrive, tangling with cover stories, tossing lies up into the air to see if anything stuck. He tried to sort through them all, but the problem was he didn’t know what Kirigiri wanted. If she had been here, it would have been easier because he could watch her reactions. She wasn’t here though, so that left him with only the knowledge of her personality.

“I’ve been investigating,” he half-lied. “I’m trying to weed out the weak points and figure a way out of here, but it’s really hard. Uh, the Monokumas can’t tell when you’re wearing a mask. But they analyze your voice and stuff so it isn’t that helpful . . . ”

She sighed. “Thank you for telling me that. However, what I want to know is why you’re walking around that building in the first place.”

. . . Because he wanted to find a way out? He thought that was straight-forward, and told her as much.

And this time she answered immediately, and sharply. “Why aren’t you locked up? Everything you’ve told me so far indicates that once you got there, they forgot you were there and you just walked off.”

“No! I mean, when I first got here, Komaeda-kun wouldn’t let me out of his room for _weeks_! And then they handcuffed me to a bed for a while, but I’m allowed to walk around now.”

And finally, _finally_ he grasped the misunderstanding.

“Kirigiri-san, it’s not . . . I’m allowed to walk around _inside._ That’s it. I can’t go out. They won’t let me leave. They always have somebody follow me when I leave my room to make sure I don’t run, and when I do . . . That’s why I was handcuffed to a bed. I tried to run, and they caught me, and then once . . . I _got out_. The Future Foundation blew up the wall, and I ran through and I swear, _I was out_. They’ve . . . they’ve got the Imposter on their side, and I saw him . . . I thought Togami-kun had come to save me. But he hadn’t. It wasn’t Togami-kun. He was one _of them_ and they dragged me back and Kuzuryu-kun . . .”

He hadn’t thought about it in ages. Now it all came rushing back in a blaze of blood and tears. Monokuma, still on its belly, pushed itself up and reached towards him. He smacked the paw away and almost shoved the bear off the bed. The only reason he didn’t is that he remembered that it had been sent by Kirigiri.

“Naegi-kun . . . Naegi-kun, relax.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see. That simple command from her still held enough authority behind it to wallop his emotions over the head, giving him time to wrestle control from them.

“K-Kirigiri-san, the Monokuma you sent over, is that really Alter Ego?”

“Yes. We copied his AI into its memory banks and attempted to overwrite its programming. If he successfully passed this phone to you, I will assume we were successful.”

“You are Alter Ego,” Naegi said to the robot. He remembered then how _horribly_ he had treated it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I thought it was some kind of trap . . .”

“It’s okay, Naegi-kun,” Alter Ego said. “I look very different, don’t I?”

“Kirigiri-san, hold on a second.”

He set the phone down and stared at Alter Ego.

“Can I hug you?”

Alter Ego nodded.

And he did. Hard, cold metal with strong edges pressed back against him, and it was the best hug he’d even had. He didn’t care that he had caught Alter Ego’s paws between their bodies, so that the claws would have gone straight up through his jaw had they accidentally extended. They had found him. He wasn’t alone anymore.

He picked up the phone. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you . . .”

“There’s no need for that,” Kirigiri said. “We intend to do whatever is necessary to bring you home.”

His lips stretched into a dazed smile. Home.

“. . . There’s something I need to ask you,” Kirigiri said.

“Go ahead.”

“Did you know Enoshima Junko’s funeral was being recorded?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi tries to make up for that disastrous speech at the funeral.


	62. The Redress

“I don’t understand. Ultimate Despair was broadcasting the funeral live to their army, but how do you know about that?”

“It wasn’t just shown to Ultimate Despair,” Kirigiri said tightly. “Back at Hope’s Peak, do you remember when Enoshima told us her people had control over the airwaves?”

“Yes . . .”

A heavy ball dropped into his stomach. When Kirigiri spoke like this, it always engaged the analytical part of his mind. And when that part of his mind spun into action, all at once, the pieces had snapped together. Ultimate Despair had control of the airways. That funeral had been recorded . . . It couldn’t be The air thickened, pressing him around him, threatening to snap him in two. It couldn’t be leading to what he feared it was. _Please_.

“It wasn’t just Ultimate Despair who saw what happened in that funeral,” Kirigiri said. “ _Everyone_ did.”

 _Everyone_.

His first thoughts were for Komaru, who had already told him about how strangely he had been acting, how he behaved as though he was working with her kidnappers. His sister was already very confused and from what he’d been able to gather, didn’t understand too much about what was really happening in the world. If she had seen that funeral, seen _him_ , what would she be thinking? What if she thought he was working with Ultimate Despair, and decided to _join_ them to be with her brother? What was he supposed to do, then?

Next, came thoughts of his parents. He didn’t know what their situation was, but it must have been like Komaru’s, or Kirigiri’s. What would they think? Surely, they wouldn’t like it. His parents wouldn’t like him supporting someone like _her_. But, they must have known he didn’t mean it, right? They were his parents. They must have understood that her very existence was against his nature!

“Wh-what I said . . . I wasn’t serious,” Naegi stammered. “They told me to say that. I didn’t mean to upset anyone . . .”

“I know. Our classmates know. But you must have some idea of the effect this had on the rest of the world.”

“. . . The rest of the world?” That combination of words tasted foreign. He repeated them, tried to get a feel of them. The images his mind conjured were blurry and out of focus.

“They’re upset,” Kirigiri said shortly. “Very upset. They think you’ve abandoned them in favour of Ultimate Despair.”

“No, that’s not what I was doing!” he said desperately. “I’m still on the side of Hope. I’m the Ultimate Hope!”

“I know, but they no longer do.”

Silence. Kirigiri seemed to understand he needed time to absorb this.

“How . . .?” He croaked. “How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll assume I’m right in saying that Ultimate Despair doesn’t allow you free access to the airwaves. Even if you claimed what you said before had been a lie, I’m not sure how many people would believe you.”

“There has to be something I can do,” he said, nearly pleading. “Anything!”

“Even if I could tell you what you needed to say, there’s still the issue of getting the message out.”

“You could pass on a message,” Naegi said. “I could tell you what to say and –”

“Do you think it would be wise for me to reveal that we are in contact?” Kirigiri asked. “Ultimate Despair has a ‘friend on the inside’, don’t they?”

Yes, that was right. Komaeda had spies. Komaeda would get angry. He’d take the cellphone away, and then Naegi would only be permitted to speak to Kirigiri after he read hope eulogies.

( _He hadn’t spoken to Komaru in a long time_ )

He said, “You’re right. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Then you see the problem. Unless you can magically convince Ultimate Despair to let you go on the air unsupervised, I don’t see a way for you to get any message out.”

“Me, neither,” he said. “Ultimate Despair doesn’t pull out the cameras that often. Just . . .”

His eyes widened. He stood up and walked past a dozing Kuma to the calendar. He checked the date. If he was remembering correctly . . .

“What time is it?” he asked. He made a mental note to ask Komaeda for a clock later.

“Five in the afternoon.”

If he was remembering right. . .

“Kirigiri-san? I think . . . I think I might have a plan.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” he said softly. He smacked his lips. “I think I can get a message out, but I’m not sure what to say.”

“. . . I wish I could help you,” Kirigiri said. “But all my speeches were made with the assistance of others, and I can’t let _anyone_ know I’ve contacted you. I can’t tell you what to say. If I’m honest, this is a situation where I would be more likely to approach _you_ for assistance.”

“Okay. Then, I’ll . . . I’ll figure it out,” he said. Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“For trusting me.”

He walked back over to the bed and picked up the screwdriver. At the very least, he figured he should put Alter Ego’s skull back on. He nodded at the AI, and Alter Ego sat up so Naegi would have easy access to the head. But before he began repairing the robot, he asked Kirigiri one last thing.

“Kirigiri-san? Can I call you again later?”

“Yes. Call me whenever you need to,” she said. “Depending on where I am and what I’m doing, I may not be able to answer, but I am there. Remember that.”

“I will.”

“Naegi-kun . . . Good luck.”

Hanging up felt like driving a nail into his hand. He ignored the pain and turned his attention to carefully replacing Alter Ego’s skull. Then, he turned his feet toward the staircase and started walking.

“Naegi-kun? Where are you going?” Alter Ego asked.

Halfway up the stairs, Naegi stopped. “Are you connected to the network? Like, do you know everything the other Monokumas do?”

“I can access that data,” Alter Ego confirmed. “However, if I delve too deeply, there’s a risk that I’ll lose control and this body’s original programming will take over.”

“Okay. I don’t think I’m asking you to go that far, but if you don’t think it’s safe, don’t do it.” Naegi took a deep breath. “Can you tell me if Ultimate Despair is broadcasting anything, right now?”

Alter Ego stared at him. The robot was still, its eyes blank, but Naegi could he could hear the array of circuits and chips at work.

“I believe Tsumiki Mikan, the Ultimate Nurse, is hosting her show right now.”

He nodded. “I thought so. Can you guide me there?”

As it turned out, while Monokumas could apparently hop down the stairs to his room, they had a much harder time climbing out. Naegi ended up picking Alter Ego up and carrying him. He was heavy. It wasn’t until Alter Ego turned towards him and wrapped his arms around his neck, that his arms stop threatening to tear out of their sockets. He continued carrying Alter Ego even after they climbed the stairs because . . . well, if he stopped and thought about it, there wasn’t really a reason. It probably would have been better to drop Alter Ego, in case Ultimate Despair saw them and got confused.

He didn’t.

Naegi had never been back to the room where Mikan hosted her show. His one and only visit remained that dark time so long ago when Mikan had first found him, (how long had he been here? Months? Years?) when Ultimate Despair was so raw and wild, and even he, the Ultimate Hope himself, was still a fledgling. He traced the scar on his forehead. How far away, those times seemed. How exaggerated his response back then had been. He remembered hiding behind Komaeda, wetting himself . . . he cringed to remember. How naïve, how _childish_ it had been to think that was despair. No, that hadn’t been despair . . .

Still, he was a little worried about his reaction when he stood in the room that had been the setting for so many old nightmares. Alter Ego had no fur and wasn’t too comfortable to hug, but Naegi was glad he had to chance to anyways. But, Alter Ego couldn’t come in with him, so he set the robot down before taking the plunge.

He walked in unnoticed. The dim lighting of the room left much to be desired. Was there only that single light in the center of the room? Even when viewing it through a TV screen, he had never seen another. Still, in the halo cast by that glowing light, the room was mostly the same as he remembered. Cold. Bare floors and walls. Desolate in its loneliness. A design, he assumed, that was deliberate. For it would be in Ultimate Despair’s nature to make sure that no one who entered these doors had a shred of hope left.

(Ultimate Despair though, had never planned for him)

The game wheel had been shoved out of the way of the filming. He hid behind it, and peeked out. Owari, nearby, lounged on an active camera. The lens was pointed – his heart clenched a little – at Mikan. Back to him, she was bent over a cart, preparing something he couldn’t see. If he moved fast, he could get in view of the camera before either of the two could stop him. He was pretty sure he could fend off Mikan, but Owari would be impossible. Once she realized what he was doing, there would only be a few seconds before the Gymnast pounced. It might be possible, however, to trick Owari into going away . . .

His gaze shifted, and all thoughts of speeches or trickery were wiped away. For between the two girls, closer to Mikan than Owari, was a table. And strapped down upon that table, was a person.

 _No_.

On hands and knees, fading into the shadows, Naegi crept forwards.

“Hey, Tsumiki! You falling asleep or something? Bring out the good stuff!”

“E-eh? Umm, just a second. I’m almost done.

_No!_

Mikan turned towards the table, needle in hand –

_NO!_

It felt like gods were guiding him. That fate itself had swept its hand down and pushed to spur him into motion. His shoes clattered against the ground, the sound so unexpected, so out of place that neither Mikan nor Owari could react fast enough to catch him. Not that he gave them much time, for he was running for just a few seconds, and then his feet were off the ground and he was flying through the air. He landed in the center of the table, half-slung over the man who, head strapped down and unable to see who had touched him, began to struggle and shout.

“I-it’s okay!” Naegi stammered. “It’s me. I’m Naegi Makoto.”

He had thought that would calm him, but apparently, the man was so frightened that the voice of the Ultimate Hope wasn’t enough. The man’s body thrashed and shook with the small bit of motion it was allowed, and Naegi ducked away from a strike that never came.

“M-Makoto?” Mikan, needle still in hand, stepped closer.

“Naegi!” Owari waved wildly. “I didn’t you know were coming by. Get over here! There’s a great view from here!”

He pretended he didn’t hear her. He awkwardly readjusted his arms and legs, fitting himself over that pinned-down form. His own heart was pounding, but the pulse wasn’t that fast, and he pretended those heartbeats were sending pulses of calm and confidence through his body. He pressed himself against the man, hoping those pulses could reach him, too.

Owari laughed. “Guess Naegi wants a really close look.”

“Umm, I guess.” Mikan was approaching, but she wasn’t looking at him. “I’ll give the injection now.”

He wasn’t sure exactly where she was aiming, what her intention was when she grabbed the man’s chin, but it mattered not. Once he saw that contact, once he knew the general area she was targeting, he sprung. His body slammed into Mikan’s arm, knocking it away and then he curled over the man’s head, nearly suffocating him with his shirt. The man was still fighting, still pulling at the bonds around his wrists and ankles, but he had tired and his full-body thrashing had weakened.

“What? Do you want her to inject it somewhere else?” Owari asked. She absently picked at her ear.

“I g-guess I can do the kneecap . . .”

But as she moved, Naegi moved with her, scuttling over the body until he blocked her new target. Mikan understood what was happening now and backed away, whimpering as if he was pointing a knife at her throat.

“Naegi, stop delaying!” Owari shouted. “There’s nothing important on after this, but the people watching got things they need to do. They can’t wait around all day!”

His only response was to shake his head, and tucked himself in around the body.

“M-maybe we should stop,” Mikan said. Naegi watched her. Yes, yes! That was exactly what they should do –

“Nah. I got this.”

Owari cracked her knuckles. Her shadow stretched long on the floor as she strode forward. There was nothing to physically defend himself with and honestly, it was doubtful he could best her even with a weapon. Owari may be so skinny that it looked like she would snap in a high wind, but she was still a world-class athlete, and presumably possessed all the benefits that came with her title.

Naegi laid atop the man, wriggled his arms into the small space between back and table, and clung. Fighting Owari would be hopeless . . .

But he still had to try.

Fingers snapped in front of his nose. “Alright, Naegi. Off. You’re clogging up the camera space.”

“N-no.”

It was a simple refusal, but one unplanned for. Owari turned to Mikan, clearly at a loss. Mikan, however, didn’t appear to know how to proceed anymore than Owari did, nor did she appeared very motivated to. She had turned away, chin tucked against her chest.

Owari tried again. “Okay, seriously. Shoo. Move.”

Cheek pressed against the man’s sternum, Naegi readjusted his grip, grabbing onto his own wrists with each hand, enclosing the man’s body in his arms. The man’s heart beat rabbit-fast under those vibrating bones.

Owari’s bony finger jammed into his spine. “Where’s the on button? How do you make him move?”

“I’m not moving!” he said loudly. “Not unless . . . Not unless you promise not to hurt him!”

“What the hell? That isn’t cool!”

“If you’re not promising, then I’m not moving!”

Owari spluttered. Mikan gave convincing him to move a weak try, and then backed down again. Naegi curled himself tighter around the man, watching the girls through narrowed eyes.

“Alright. Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

Owari pushed her sleeves up. Knuckles cracked again. She loomed above Naegi, shadow falling across his back and the face of her would-be victim. With his arms locked around the man, there was nothing he could do to stop her fist from entangling itself with the back of his shirt, or prevent her arm from sliding under his armpit.

And with that bit of forewarning, she _pulled_.

His shirt ripped within mere moments, stretching along the collar, the front burning a noose-mark into his throat. Bone dug into the fleshy underside of his arm as the terrible pressure pulled up against his shoulder. His shirt fell slack suddenly, leaving the bare front of his neck aching and hot, and then her arm slid under his other shoulder, and she started to peel him away like a bandage. Pain traced a forked path down the length of his back, making him grimace – and _holy_ – spines weren’t meant to bend like this. Panic fluttered in his belly, the same emotion shining at him from the man’s reddened eyes. His grip was loosening, not only because Owari’s tugging was changing the angle, but also because it really, really _hurt_ –

Just like that, he slipped through her fingers. His body snapped back so fast, he nearly bruised himself when his skull hit the man’s sternum. The muscles in his back throbbed with pain, like they were recovering from a long day’s work.

“Whew. I . . . Don’t worry. I got this.” Owari was hunched over, hands on her thighs as she panted for breath. “Just let me rest for a sec, and then I’ll get him off.”

“Y-you shouldn’t pull him like that,” Mikan said. “You could throw his back out!”

Naegi himself wanted to stop and rest, but he forced his legs into action, and wrapped them, too, around the man. He watched Owari struggle for breath, and began to understand. She was the Ultimate Gymnast, a world-best athlete. But no matter what talent she had, or what fanaticism drove her, there was something that couldn’t be denied. She had starved herself for months. Years, perhaps. Owari was very strong, much stronger than anything he could face head-to-head, but at the same time, she was weak. She simply couldn’t maintain that kind of strength for a long time.

Naegi would never be able to overpower her, but maybe he could outlast her.

The decision was made. He flattened himself, arched his back a little to try and wring out some of that lingering pain, and waited.

This time, when she was ready, he was, too. Owari pulled, trying to roll him off this time, and he clung. He was unshakable. His hold on the man was too strong for Owari to overpower with her limited stamina, and the awkward placement of his arms and hands underneath the man and their combined weight, made it too difficult for Owari to reach down and break the grip. The man’s heart continued to beat too quickly, but his breaths were deliberate.

“I give up,” Owari said, leaning back against the table. “Tsumiki, you give it a try.”

Defeated, the Gymnast slumped off. She grabbed a phone off the nearby cart. What she said into it and who she called remained unknown, for Mikan drew his attention now. He almost glared at her. He _wanted_ to, to assert that he was stopping this and there wasn’t a thing she could do to change his mind, but he couldn’t quite muster up the anger.

“M-Makoto, can you please get off?”

“Not until you stop,” he said.

She bit her lip. “But this i-is my job. They want me t-to do this . . .”

“I don’t want you to.”

She went quiet. He didn’t move. The door opened and closed, but he kept his eyes on her, willing her to stand down, to _stop_ with his stare alone . . .

“Naegi-kun, what are you doing?”

That voice crashed into him like a wave filled with ice. Sharp, jagged pieces of ice. He did not lift his head or turn it to look at the speaker. Instead, he miraculously pressed himself further into the man, as if he were the endangered one, as if the man could spring free of his bonds and rescue him. For the first time, a tiny part of him regretted coming in here.

“I . . . I am . . .” He worked his jaw through inadequate explanations. “I am spreading Hope to this person.”

A beat.

“Oh, that’s adorable!” Komaeda gushed. “See, Owari-san? You can’t be mad at him. He’s just following his instincts.”

Steps. Naegi couldn’t see Komaeda, but he could sense Komaeda was very close. An iron cord connected them, shuddering with each inch that disappeared between them.

“But,” Komaeda continued in a singsong voice, “it’s time for you to stop. You’ve done it. I could sense his hope when I walked in. You did your job, Naegi-kun. Now, you got to let Owari-san and Tsumiki-san do theirs.”

“. . . N-no. I can’t.”

There was nothing. Owari looked up suddenly, over him, and he knew she and Komaeda were speaking silently. Now, he finally turned to Komaeda.

“They’re going to kill him!” he pleaded. “I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want . . .”

“I understand it upsets you, but look at him.” Komaeda pushed on his chin, used that to make him look the man in the face. “He’s not an Ultimate. He’s nothing special. The only thing he’s good for is being a stepping stone for your hope.”

“Yes,” Naegi said. “He would be a really good stepping stone for my hope . . . if he lived!”

Komaeda smiled.

He grabbed the back of Naegi’s neck, and pushed it down. Mikan protested somewhere in the background, but Komaeda ignored her, and crouched down next to him.

“Naegi-kun, would his survival really mean that much? Does he really mean that much to you? I thought you cared more about other people, like Iwata-kun.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or Komaru. Don’t you want to see your sister again?”

Was that a threat? He couldn’t tell. Komaeda was speaking so nicely, but he _always_ did that. Komaeda could threaten you and skin you alive without losing that lightness to his tone.

“I w-want to see her,” he said.

“Good . . .”

“. . . But I don’t want him to die, either!”

Komaeda sighed. The hand fell from his neck. “Naegi-kun, you need to let go now.”

“I don’t . . .”

“You’re making me angry.”

Angry. The word stuck. Like a knife driven into a skull. Komaeda was angry. Something inside him curled away and covered its head. The hazy imaginations and emotions his imagination churned up were enough that his hands lost their grip. It took the man straining downwards, grinding his back against Naegi’s arms in a desperate attempt to keep Naegi where he was, to snap out of the trance. Komaeda. . . Komaeda was staring. Komaeda was staring and saying nothing and just staring . . . Mikan was watching and looked upset, but Owari was holding her back.

“I c-can’t,” he mumbled. His neck was sinking into his shoulders; his legs into his waist. Every instinct he had was telling him to become smaller. Maybe then Komaeda would see it fit to be merciful, and that was _Komaeda’s_ clammy hand in his hair, Komaeda’s clammy hand pulling his head back this time. Naegi shook his head, still mumbling refusals, until Komaeda grabbed his chin and forced it still.

“You need to get off now,” Komaeda said. “I know you’re not trying to make me angry. _Right_?”

“Komaeda-kun, you’re scaring him!”

He couldn’t speak. To speak would be to agree, but he couldn’t abandon his post. But to say _that_ would make things a hundred times worse. He was shaking. He was shaking and if Owari came and pulled on him now, that would be the end –

The door slammed open.

“Turn it off!” Kuzuryu barked, Pekoyama behind him. “Turn the damn thing off!”

Komaeda blinked. “What -?”

“The fucking camera!”

Komaeda snapped straight. “It’s still on?”

The camera? Right, that was why he had come here in the first place . . . Oh, no! He had forgotten he needed to tell them -

Mikan nearly dove on top of the camera. The small red light, unnoticed until now, disappeared as she shut it off.

“What’s the big deal?” Owari asked. “The whole point is that we want people to see . . .”

“Not _that_!” Kuzuryu snapped. “They weren’t supposed to see that shit! Fuck!”

He kicked the cart. Needles, pens, serums, they all went tumbling onto the ground. The Yakuza wasn’t satisfied with that, however. He marched over, grabbed the front of Naegi’s shirt, and pulled him close.

“You . . . _You._ You’re going to your fucking room? You hear me? You’re fucking grounded or whatever!”

Kuzuryu let him go, and stomped off, steaming.

“. . . If I go back to my room, are you going to hurt him?” Naegi asked.

Kuzuryu whipped around, mouth set in a snarl –

“Umm, I don’t think we need to,” Mikan said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to continue the broadcast tonight . . .”

Hearing another Despair speak was enough to sand off the worse edges of Kuzuryu’s temper. Those tense shoulders relaxed and for the first time since he’d entered, it seemed as though Kuzuryu was running on something besides anger.

“I can return the subject to his cell,” Pekoyama said.

“You do that. Hey, Naegi, what are you still doing here? I told you to go back to your room!”

Dare he obey? Could he trust them? They hadn’t promised not to hurt him. He had no certainty as to whether they’d do as Mikan suggested, so what . . .?

He met Pekoyama’s eyes.

Ever so slightly, she nodded at him.

Naegi relaxed.

Maybe, things would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Mikan makes a decision.


	63. The Call to Arms

“Well, that was a disappointment. You wanna make up for it tomorrow? I bet Nevermind or Kuzuryu could swing it for you.”

Sitting, Owari watched Tsumiki, waiting for her answer. Tsumiki, her back to the Gymnast, stiffened. The Nurse was couching, hovering just above the ground, picking up some of the items that had fallen when Kuzuryu lost his temper. Now, with the heat of Owari’s attention upon her, she fumbled and dropped a needle she had just picked up.

“Umm, I wouldn’t want to get in anybody’s way . . .”

“Nah, there’s never anything on Thursdays.” Owari tilted her head, and scratched the inside of her ear. “Sometimes, the old man and I just go ahead and borrow the cameras for ourselves.”

Tsumiki looked over her shoulder. “You d-do? For what?”

“So, everyone can check out our awesome fights!”

“Fighting? Owari-san, are you sure you should be doing that? Your body . . .”

Owari’s glower alone was enough to shut Tsumiki up and let her know that, yes, the Gymnast was _perfectly_ healthy and capable of fighting, thank you very much. No need for that “proper eating” myth.

“Just because I couldn’t pull Naegi off that guy doesn’t mean I can’t throw punches!” Owari shouted. She leapt out of her seat and kicked the chair aside, as if afraid of showing any weakness. “He’s a really good clinger. He’s clingy! Huh. Maybe that’s why Komaeda likes him.”

“I’m s-sorry!” Tsumiki whimpered. “I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

Owari huffed. It was a sound of both annoyance, and exasperation, the sound of one who had gone through this kind of argument many times before.

“B-but maybe you should eat something. Just a little . . .”

“How many times do we need to go through this?” Owari threw her hands up in the air. “Look at me. I’m _fine_. I could totally take Naegi’s bear!”

Owari marched closer, thrusting her chest up and out as if she intended to knock Tsumiki down by walking through her. Tsumiki couldn’t help but scan Owari’s body. Her eyes lingered on sunken cheeks, on visible bones protruding in the V of her shirt’s collar; her eyes travelled up the skin stretched over the collarbone, and back down the stick-thin, sorry excuse for arms. There was no need to imagine what Owari’s skeleton looked like without the flesh attached, because Tsumiki could already see it.

“. . . No, you can’t,” Tsumiki whispered.

“Huh? What was that?”

“N-nothing!”

Owari didn’t press further. “So, your show. You want to try again tomorrow?”

Tsumiki stared at the ground. “. . . No.”

“So, we wait until next week, then? I guess we could try locking the door to keep Naegi out. Or toss the kid in Komaeda’s direction –”

“No!” Tsumiki said. “No, I don’t th-think we should do that.”

Owari shrugged. “Your call.”

Tsumiki put some space between them. She kicked a serum bottle by accident, and the clatter was an loud, abrupt reminder of what had happened here tonight, of what Makoto thought of all this. Of what she, herself, had been thinking. . .

“Umm, Owari-san . . .”

“Yeah.”

Tsumiki’s teeth dug into the inside of her cheek. “P-please don’t hate me!”

“Why would I do that?”

“B-because I . . . I want to stop!”

Silence.

“I don’t get it,” Owari said.

“I want to stop being on camera.”

“So, like, you want to control a robot off-screen to do things for you? Hell, yeah! That would be awesome –”

“No. I just want to stop. I want to stop the show.”

Owari stared at her.

“It’s not fun anymore,” Tsumiki explained. “I’m not enjoying it. It’s . . .”

“You develop a tolerance or something?” Owari said. “Maybe we gotta kick it up! You could bring some of Soda’s machines in, and we . . .”

Tsumiki shook her head. “No. It’s . . . It won’t help.”

She turned away, unable to bear the disappointment – the _anger_ – she knew Owari must be feeling. She wanted a stuffed rabbit of her own to cuddle, to love. Makoto was nice, but he wasn’t here, and other people liked to cuddle with him, too.

Owari’s hand landed on her shoulder.

“You really want to stop?” Owari asked.

Tsumiki nodded, confused as to why Owari was speaking so nicely . . . Oh, she was probably not trying to reveal what she _really_ thought of her. They did that sometimes, before they grabbed her and hurt her –

“Well, it’s fine if you really want to. None of my business, anyways.”

“. . . You don’t care?” Tsumiki asked.

“It’s your show,” Owari said blasely. “You should probably tell Kuzuryu, though.”

* * *

“Naegi-kun?”

At the sound of Komaeda’s voice, Naegi hurriedly shoved Alter Ego away from him, almost pushing the robot right off the bed. Thankfully, Komaeda was still at the top of the stairs, leaving plenty of time for Naegi to pretend nothing was going on, and for Alter Ego to waddle a safe distance away.

Komaeda’s head poked out of the alcove. “Hello!”

“. . . Hi.”

Komaeda cocked his head. “Were you busy?”

Naegi shook his head.

Komaeda strolled over. Kuma rumbled with disapproval, but made no move to do anything about the situation. Without asking, Komaeda sat down on the bed next to Naegi. While Komaeda’s original hoodie was lying across the head of the bedframe, evidentially, the Luckster had been able to secure another one. Naegi was almost jealous.

Komaeda looked at him. “You know why I’m here.”

. . .Yes, he did. There could only be one reason. His whole body seemed to bristle, like he was a cat fluffing its fur up. He supressed an urge to check on Alter Ego, irrationally afraid for the robot’s safety. Technically, he had won that last battle with Ultimate Despair, but that didn’t mean there weren’t consequences. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to suffer.

Komaeda crocked a finger. “Come here.”

There was no choice. Naegi shuffled closer.

Not close enough, apparently. Komaeda waited a second more, and then just decided to lean in himself and close the distance. Naegi, expecting anger, expecting a grab or pull or _something_ (not a hit though. Komaeda didn’t do that), squeezed his eyes shut. His body braced itself, digging heels and hips into the ground to make it harder for Komaeda to tug him off his feet, tensing his neck so that Komaeda couldn’t grab his chin and pull it wherever he wanted.

In other words, he was very much not expecting a hug.

But a hug it was. A hug it stayed; a one-armed hug, over the shoulders, Komaeda’s lips resting on the crown of his head. After a few moments of that, after Naegi’s tight-strung fear began to dissipate, Komaeda pulled back.

“I know what happened in there,” Komaeda said. “You saw a despair you could fix, so you tried. I understand. It’s like putting a machine Soda-kun’s never seen before in front of him, and expecting him to ignore it. You’re Hope. It’s what you do.”

But even as Komaeda said that, he leaned back and sighed. Komaeda’s gaze had turned upwards towards the ceiling, the sign of one preparing themselves. Naegi wasn’t out of the woods, yet.

“But, there are things you need to understand,” Komaeda said gently. “You need to remember who they are. They’re Ultimate _Despair_. They like you, but they don’t like hope. You need to be more careful. Ultimate Despair . . . they’re horrible creatures. Hope does not sway them. They don’t understand hope.”

Komaeda giggled a little, and he tugged at the sleeves of his own hoodie.

“You can’t trust them. They’ll let you think everything’s okay, and then strike. They’ll turn on you, and try to smother your Hope. Don’t forget!” Komaeda whipped around, grabbing Naegi’s upper arm and pulling him in. “Don’t forget what they wanted to do to you!”

Komaeda reached up, and tapped _that_ eye –

Naegi kicked away. He landed on his side, bowels clenching, feeling as though he had no legs. His foot had hit Komaeda, but it hadn’t moved him. Komaeda was in the same spot he had been before, fists clenched and nostrils flaring as he struggled to keep his voice civil.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Komaeda asked. “You need to be careful how much you stand up to them. Pick your battles. You need to ask yourself whether things like that are worth the risk. If you don’t, if they start to become intimidated by your Hope . . . Then they’ll fall back to _their_ instincts. They’ll try to stomp it into dust.”

Naegi had rolled onto his back and sat up enough to get his shoulders off the ground, giving him a better view of the older teen. Komaeda, to his eyes, seemed weary. Against common sense, trickles of guilt invaded his mind. Had he been worrying Komaeda that much?

“That’s why I tried to get you out of there,” Komaeda said. “I wasn’t angry at you for trying to give him hope . . . though I was a bit angry you didn’t listen to me.”

“I-I’m sorry!” It was tempting, very tempting, to grab the blankets and hide beneath them, but he worried about how childish that would be.

Komaeda didn’t reject the apology. He didn’t accept it either.

“Naegi-kun, you know how important you are, don’t you?” Komaeda scooted closer. “You’re the Ultimate Hope. There’s nobody else like you. Do you understand that?”

“I know,” he said. He turned his head sideways, unable to bear the intensity of the other’s stare. “But . . .”

“But what? But the entire world _isn’t_ after you? That I can’t _literally_ make a blanket of your propaganda posters from a single city? Ah, when are you finally going to understand? You’re not on the same level as the rest of us. You’re not like those rats scavenging for scraps, or even like other Ultimates. They are only a spark compared to the sun you are. They have no more worth than what you give them.”

When Naegi opened his mouth, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was about to do. Protest? Agree? Too many contradictions swam in his mind for him to be sure. Not that it mattered. Komaeda shoved him down, so that he lay flat on his back, and held him there with one hand. Before he could blink, Komaeda was – well, not actually straddling him; both of his knees were on the same side of Naegi’s hips – over top of him, sitting tall, but back arched so that his head was above Naegi’s.

“Naegi-kun, you _are_ the most important person in the world. You are the future. You are Hope. The world needs you, and to risk yourself like that for somebody who isn’t nearly as important. . .  It’s nothing short of a betrayal. Not just of me; not just of hope; it’s a betrayal of the entire world. That’s the truth. Do you understand?”

Though he nodded because that was the correct response, there was a hard ball in his abdomen. One that frayed apart into excited little strings that set his nerves aflame and almost made him pant.

“Good. Then do you understand why you were more important than that man? Do you understand why I wanted you to leave him be? Do you understand why stepping away like I told you to was the _right thing to do_?”

“Because . . . because . . .”

Komaeda raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Because . . . I’m more important, right?” He watched Komaeda with a wild grin. That was the answer, right? That’s what Komaeda wanted, right?

“You are,” Komaeda said. “Your safety will always be more valuable then his life. You’re the priority. Can you say that for me?”

“I’m . . . I’m the priority!”

“Good. Naegi-kun, I want you to take this.”

Komaeda pressed something cold and slick into his hand. Naegi held it up so he could see it. It was a walkie-talkie.

“I have the other one,” Komaeda said. He patted the side of his pants; presumably, it was in a pocket there. “If something bad happens, if Kuzuryu-kun or anyone tries going after you, I want you to call me. They’re not going to hurt you, if I can help it.”

Naegi nodded.

Komaeda removed his hand from Naegi’s chest. He shifted his weight back.

“Any chance I can get another hug?” Komaeda asked.

It was a request easily granted.

His arms still tightly secured around Naegi, Komaeda then asked, “Why is there a Monokuma in your room?”

“Huh? Oh, that. I . . . I tripped when I was about to go down the stairs, and I ended up pulling it with me. It was trying to get out before, but it turns out my steps are too steep for Monokumas to climb!”

He’d been toying with that explanation for a few minutes prior to Komaeda’s arrival, having expected someone to discover Alter Ego eventually. Now that he had said it aloud though, it seemed enormously transparent.

“It fell down the stairs, huh?” Komaeda peered at Alter Ego over his head. Naegi snuggled closer to distract him.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Naegi said. “If I want to grab a book or something, I don’t even have to get out of bed anymore. It grabs them for me.”

“If you say so,” Komaeda said. He had yet to stop staring at Alter Ego.

Naegi snuggled closer, head falling into place under Komaeda’s chin, and finally distracting the other teen.

* * *

 

“No. No, I don’t know what fucking happened. I’m not a goddamn TV director. . .  I already told you. There isn’t going to be a fucking redo. Because she doesn’t want to fucking do it, that’s why! It’s cancelled. Cancelled with a capital C. Yes, I’m talking about the show!”

Kuzuryu’s face was an interesting shade of fuchsia as he held the phone to his ear. If one looked closely, it really did seem like steam was pouring out of his ears.

“Then start your own fucking show if you’re going to miss it so much!”

Cellphones, fortunately or unfortunately, could not be slammed. Kuzuryu had to settle for jamming the ‘End Call’ button as hard as he could, and then chucking the phone at a wall (where Pekoyama deftly snatched it out of the air before it broke). Kuzuryu growled, smashing his hands down upon the armrests of his throne-like perch (which he did _not_ need a footstool to get on, thank you very much ~~whoever tattled about that was going to _die_~~ ).

“You’d think I’d announced we’re disbanding, or something,” Kuzuryu snarled. “It’s a fucking medical show. It’s not like she’s cancelling the fucking apocalypse!”

Wordlessly, Pekoyama handed her Master a glass of ice water. Kuzuryu swallowed it in one gulp.

“It’s her show. If she wants to end it, then they don’t get to say a fucking word. Who the hell do they think they are?”

“Shall we order a cull?” Pekoyama asked, as she took the now-empty glass from her Master’s possession.

“. . .No. We don’t need to do that.”

In stark contrast to before, Kuzuryu’s voice dripped with exhaustion. Pekoyama looked up in concern; the Young Master was supporting his head with a hand, his eyes shut.

“Young Master?”

“. . . I get why they’re all freaking out. People don’t just do that. They don’t just stop enjoying vivisection because it gets boring. _Tsumiki_ doesn’t, at least.”

“. . . She’s been doing that show for a while,” Pekoyama said quietly. “Maybe she is bored–”

“Don’t fuck around,” Kuzuryu snapped. “I know exactly what it is. It’s Naegi’s fucking hope.”

Pekoyama was very still.

“I’ve tolerated it. I’ve sat there and _smiled_ as he goes around and shoots off at the mouth about hope. I’ve let him be out of respect for his shitty talent. But, fuck! It’s getting in the way. That was not part of the deal!”

“Shall I demand he restrain himself?” Pekoyama asked.

“It won’t work. Not while he has that fucking hope lunatic egging him on. Enough’s enough. He can go and hope out in his room all he wants, but when he starts fucking around with the rest of us, that’s when we have to put our foot down.”

“Surely, you could explain –”

“Are you stupid, Peko? Wait, dumb question; don’t bother saying yes. Do you know where Komaeda was this morning?”

Pekoyama said nothing, unsure whether the question was rhetorical . . .

“Of course, you don’t know. You’re an idiot. He was having tea with Sonia. Why? Because she wants to take Naegi out for a ride in a tank, and that means she has to stay on Komaeda’s good side. Because everyone knows that if Komaeda says riding with Sonia in a tank is a bad idea, then there’s a pretty fucking good chance Naegi’s not going to do it. Naegi’s not going to listen to me if I tell him to stop, because _Komaeda_ won’t tell him to stop. He’ll just be fucking sneaky about it, like whatever the hell he did to get Tsumiki to stop dissecting people!”

Arms crossed, chin on a downwards slant and close to his chest, Kuzuryu looked like a grumpy child. He snapped his fingers, and Pekoyama obediently deposited his fedora into his waiting palm. Kuzuryu ~~jumped~~ _gracefully stepped off_ his throne and headed for the door.

“Young Master,” Pekoyama said cautiously, “what are you planning to do?”

“What do you think?”

Kuzuryu fixed his fedora.

“I’m going to put an end to this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi calls his girlfriend.


	64. The Midnight Rendezvous

Night had fallen on Japan. It was true that Naegi’s room had no clock, nor any windows, but there were other ways of telling time. Night was when the soldiers rested, when robots poured out of Soda-kun’s workshop to make up for the lost in manpower. And while Naegi was forbidden from setting foot outside and no longer had a fully functional biological clock, Kuma still got to go on walks, and he fell and rose with the sun.

Thus, Naegi was confident it was night when he said, “I’m going to call Kirigiri-san.”

It should be a good time. While it was tremendously difficult to predict when Despair, particularly Komaeda, would come calling, he couldn’t think of an occasion where they had walked in on him in the middle of the night.

“Now?” Alter Ego asked.

Naegi nodded. He’d already taken the phone out of the spare shoe he had stashed it in, and opened Kirigiri’s profile in the Contacts section.

Here went nothing.

 _Ring_ . . .

He fought the urge to burst into hysterical giggles.

By the fourth ring, he was growing nervous. Why was she taking so long? Had he called the wrong number? No, that couldn’t be. This was the only number he had. It could be that Kirigiri had silenced her phone, although why she would do that was a mystery. Maybe. . . maybe he was remembering wrong. Maybe Kirigiri didn’t want him to call her after all and –

“Hello?” Her voice wasn’t as sharp as he expected. She sounded subdued, groggy. He wondered why.

“Kirigiri-san!” Even though Naegi had chosen this moment specifically because he was confident no one was eavesdropping, he still used a loud whisper.

“Naegi-kun? Is that you? Are you okay?” she asked. The sharpness he had expected before reared its head.

“I’m fine,” he said. He had decided earlier not to tell her that Kuzuryu had grounded him. There was no need for her to worry (plus, it was kind of embarrassing. . .)

“I saw you on TV. What happened?” Kirigiri demanded.

He cringed. As always, Kirigiri went straight for the jugular.

“You know how you told me my speech at the funeral was shown to everyone? Well, I wanted to fix that. I thought if I could get on TV again and let everyone know what really happened, I could make things better. But when I finally got on the air. . . I forgot what I had planned to do. I saw Mikan’s patient, and . . . and I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry. I forgot!”

Alter Ego patted his back. He appreciated the comfort. Here he was, the Ultimate Hope, the world’s salvation . . . and he’d just destroyed his one chance to make things right. Fat chance he’d have another chance to get near a camera in the near future.

“ _That’s_ what happened?” Kirigiri said.

“Well, yeah.” A depressing thought hit him. “Don’t tell me . . . Did I even make it on TV?”

“You certainly did,” she said gravely. He tried to decipher the seriousness there, but to no avail.

“Are you mad at me?’ he asked.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Kirigiri asked. “For waking me up? You’re the only one who knows when it’s safe for you to speak to me.”

“Not for that – although I am really sorry for waking you up. I meant are you mad at me for blowing that TV appearance?”

“Naegi-kun . . . I’m not mad at you. However, I am very concerned about whatever happened _after_ the camera was turned off.”

“Umm, I got them to agree not to hurt him – Tsumiki’s patient . . . Well, I’m pretty sure Pekoyama-san was trying to tell me they were agreeing not to hurt him. And then I got sent to my room.”

“Sent to your room.” There was a particular stress on those words that let him know Kirigiri wasn’t buying the story.

He swallowed his pride. He should have known better than to try and slip something past the Ultimate Detective. “I might be grounded.”

There was a long silence.

Kirigiri spoke. “What’s happened to you? Back at Hope’s Peak, you were the easiest to understand. I said you were an open book, and I meant it. Even when you hid things from me, you were terrible at concealing the fact that you were hiding something . . . It’s not like that anymore. Perhaps it would be different if we were speaking face-to-face, but I don’t get that sense from you. It’s as if you _want_ to keep the full story from me. It’s as if you’re purposely speaking in a way that blurs the picture you’re trying to paint.”

His heart clenched.

“I’m not keeping anything from you!” he cried. But then his heart quivered, and dropped down into his stomach when he remembered that wasn’t quite true. “Okay, I did try to hide the fact that I was grounded, but that was because I didn’t want you to worry. And because it was embarrassing.”

“Naegi-kun, I am _already_ worried. _We_ are worried. And the longer I speak with you, the more worried I become. It is very clear to me that they are doing more then _grounding_ you, and I need to know what it is. Tell me what’s going on there.”

He was shaking his head even before she finished.

“They’re not hurting me,” Naegi said. “They won’t let me leave, but they’re not trying to hurt me either. I do want to get out – I really want to see you all again – but you don’t need to worry about me like that. I’m fine. I’m safe.”

“I’d hardly consider being a hostage of the most destructive organization in history to be _safe_.”

“It’s not like that! They won’t hurt me anymore! They . . . they did a bit in the beginning, but they know better now. They’re not going to kill me!”

“But they have hurt you before.”

He looked up. Alter Ego was watching, with those flat eyes that concealed everything. Kuma had stirred too, and was sniffing in Naegi’s general direction. One was an artificial intelligence, one was an animal. He didn’t want to admit the truth in front of either of them.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m fine, now.”

“It does matter,” she said. “I don’t care if they’re not hurting you anymore. They’ve hurt you before, and that’s enough.”

“Why does it matter?” he exclaimed. “Whatever happened in the past doesn’t change anything. It’s not like they put a tracker in me, so it wouldn’t get in the way!”

(. . . _He was pretty sure he was tracker-free_.)

“I’m a detective. My life is a cycle of collecting and analyzing information. The decisions I make are based on the information I have gathered. I need as much information as I can get to make the proper decisions that will help you, and I can’t do that if _someone_ is holding back the full story. Naegi-kun, I’m trying to help you. I can’t do that if I don’t know what the problem is!”

“I thought the problem was that I’m here!” he snapped. “Isn’t is that you’re trying to help me escape?”

“Yes, but I’m also concerned about what happens _after_ that,” Kirigiri said.

After?

It was something Naegi never thought about. The idea of ‘after.’ His plans had always been simple: an escape, a blurred journey to the Future Foundation, a reunion with his friends, and then . . . happiness, he guessed. He would find his friends, finally get to meet Iwata’s niece, and he could help the Future Foundation by spreading hope. What else was there to consider?

“What are you talking about?” Naegi said. “Is something supposed to happen afterwards?”

“Obviously, I can’t guarantee anything,” Kirigiri said. “Except this: you _will_ be undergoing intensive psychiatric evaluation. That’s non-negotiable.”

Something about that pushed him the wrong way. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what that means,” she said with something like a sigh. “I will insist that Seventh Division, our therapeutic unit, present you with every psychological test they have. If they must metaphorically dissect your brain, then so be it. Whatever marks Ultimate Despair have left on you, I intend to personally see them ripped out.”

In one world, a red-faced Naegi would have desperately tried to calm his . . . actually rather calm-sounding, though ferocious, friend down. In another world, Naegi would have curled up with the phone, and tried to cuddle with the determination – nay, the _Hope_ – leaking out of the speakers. And in yet another world, Naegi would have insisted that Kirigiri was overreacting, and all this worry was truly unnecessary!

But neither of those worlds were this world. Neither of those Naegis were this Naegi. And although one Naegi may have baptized himself with the hope in those promises, this one did not; for this Naegi never even heard it. This Naegi never made it past the second sentence. His mind had snagged on one word that made everything after it meaningless.

Test.

 _Tests_.

He began to laugh.

Of course.

That was always the answer.

More tests to make sure he was being _good_.

“Why are you laughing?” Kirigiri asked. Maybe it was just him, but she sounded wary.

“Sorry!” He wiped his eyes. “It’s just . . . You don’t have to do that, you know? You can just tell me straight out.”

“Tell you what?”

“What I’m doing wrong!” he said brightly. “Am I not being hopeful enough? That’s probably it, right? The Future Foundation’s going to want me to be more hopeful. You can just say that. You don’t . . . I don’t need any tests, Kirigiri-san. Just tell me what to do!”

He spoke rapidly, something like ice building up inside and clogging his throat. He didn’t know how to put his emotions into words, to express to her just how much he didn’t want these tests because _he didn’t want more tests!_ He didn’t know the Future Foundation. How was he supposed to know what the right answers would be? A test without clear answers was a trap, and if he fell into that, if he answered wrong . . .

( _Would they kick him out? Would they throw him away because he wasn’t hopeful enough – No, no, no, no. They couldn’t. He was the Ultimate Hope. But they would get mad at him and yell at him and keep him from seeing his sister and -_ )

“ _What is wrong with you_?” Kirigiri snapped.

It was so sudden. Shocking. Naegi had the distinct feeling that Kirigiri herself hadn’t expected that to leave her mouth. The silence that poured into those words’ wake lay heavy. Alter Ego, although only able to hear one end of the conversation, saw enough from Naegi’s body language and tone to back away and huddle against the wall. Kuma was growling.

“. . . I’m sorry,” Kirigiri said. “I . . . may have overreacted.”

“. . . Yeah.”

She exhaled. “Naegi-kun, I’m going to hang up now. I . . . I need to think about this situation.”

He heard what she did not say: he had failed. Whatever secret test this was, he had failed it, too, and now he didn’t get to speak to her just like he didn’t get to speak to Komaru . . .

“Can I call you again?” he whispered.

“Yes. Naegi-kun . . . be safe.”

_Click._

He lowered, and then stared at the silent phone in his lap. Alter Ego tilted his head to one side, and then the other.

And Kuma deftly plucked the phone out of his hands. That long, curved claw seemed so gentle when brushing against his skin. With a soft _plop_ , the phone landed on the mattress. Kuma swatted it away, and pushed his head into Naegi’s chest.

“Naegi-kun,” Alter Ego asked, “is everything okay?”

He scratched behind Kuma’s ears, and the bear sighed in response.

“. . . Of course,” he said with a strained smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

 “Oh! That’s good. I was worried because you seemed upset,” Alter Ego said.

“No. Everything’s fine,” Naegi said. “There’s no need to worry about me.”

“I’m glad!” Alter Ego hopped off the bed. He landed on one foot, and spun around on that in a half-circle until he was facing Naegi. Considering Alter Ego was a robot and there were very few facial expressions he could make, Naegi shouldn’t be seeing what he saw now. But it was there, a young, innocent glee, that reminded him too much of his creator.

Alter Ego said, “We should focus on your escape, then!”

“Now?” Naegi said doubtfully.

“. . . It is twelve twenty-four, AM,” Alter Ego droned. In a much more organic voice, he said, “Ah! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“It’s not that. I mean, I’m awake now, and I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anytime soon. It’s just that, well, I think Kuzuryu-kun was serious when he said I was grounded. It’s really not a good time to try to make a run for it.”

“Kirigiri Kyoko requests that you do not act impulsively,” Alter Ego said mechanically.

“Then if she doesn’t want me to make a run for it, what’s the point of thinking about an escape?” he asked.

“It’s true that she would rather have you wait for her, but at the least we should be prepared!” Alter Ego said, clapping his hands together in enthusiasm. “There’s no telling when rescue will come.”

“That’s true. We don’t know what’s happening on their side. They could be parked outside, right now.” He smiled at the thought. “You’re right. We should be prepared. I should have a travel bag ready, just in case!”

For once, he was thankful that Nevermind and Koizumi had raided his house. He had plenty of clothes here, certainly enough that he would be able to stack a set or two aside for an emergency escape. Though he was sure the Future Foundation would have clothes waiting for him. However, the point was that it would be nice to be able to point at a pile and say “These are for when I get out of here.” Apart from the clothes, he didn’t have anything else that needed to come with him (he’d lived, once, in a murderous campus and a single room with nothing from home but the clothes on his back). Nothing here was essential, except . . .

He picked up the stuffed rabbit with one hand, and stared into its doe-like eyes.

“Was that a gift?” Alter Ego said.

“It was,” Naegi said softly.

That turned his thoughts inwards, and he wondered. Could Mikan come with him? Would she _want_ to come with him? Surely, by now, she must have realized something had changed, that she was different when compared to her classmates. Maybe if she cut and dyed her hair, threw away the contacts – the hallmark of a Despair – she could blend in. Asahina was nice. Mikan would respond well to her energy! However, he should try to keep her away from Togami for a while . . .

After trying, and failing, to wrap up the clothes by using a towel as a hobo bag, he resorted to stuffing them into a plastic bag. Not the rabbit though. That stayed in his bed. For now.

“We should start investigating for Kirigiri-san, too!” Naegi said. “Kirigiri-san was asking me questions before about security and stuff. I can get that information for her! I can’t tell her exactly where the exits are because I’m not allowed to get near them, but I can give her a rough idea of where they are and how many guards are there.”

“Or I can do that!” Alter Ego hopped up and down, arm raised. “The other robots don’t pay any attention to me.”

“Okay, that’s a good idea,” Naegi agreed. “I’ll start exploring more tomorrow. I need to make sure I memorize the route to every exit. You start checking out the security.”

Alter Ego saluted. “Your command has been registered.”

“I show get Tanaka-kun to show me how to feed Kuma, too,” Naegi said absent-mindedly. “Somebody’s got to take care of him.”

“Kuma is your bear?”

“Yes, he . . . Kuma! That’s a pillow, not a chew toy!”

After he wrestled his pillow out of the teeth of a very disappointed bear, he turned back to the robot. He said, “I’ll start tomorrow. I don’t want anyone to see me walking around and get suspicious.”

Alter Ego nodded. “If you don’t mind, I can begin my task now. I have no need for sleep.”

“Go ahead,” Naegi said, as he crawled under the covers. “The sooner, the better.”

Alter Ego waddled off. Back to him, Naegi grinned and squealed under his breath. He held the rabbit to him tightly, crushing it against his ribs. He hadn’t felt so . . . so _happy_ in a long time.

“Umm, Naegi-kun?”

Naegi rolled over. Alter Ego was still at the bottom of the stairs, both paws pushing down on the first step, back and hips at an odd angle as he tried to hoist his legs onto the step.

“. . . Could you help me?” Alter Ego asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Kuzuryu takes on Naegi's hope.


	65. The First Shot

“What part of ‘You are fucking grounded’ didn’t you understand?”

“I wasn’t sure what that meant! Sometime, that just means you can’t go over to your friends’ houses.”

Dangling above the ground, hanging from Pekoyama’s hand like a dog by its scruff, Naegi pleaded his case. He’d left his room this morning, and then had almost immediately been apprehended by Kuzuryu and Pekoyama, the former of whom was convinced this was all a deliberate act of defiance. Which was why he made Pekoyama pick him up and carrry him back to his room . . .

Well, that’s what _should_ have happened. Instead, for some reason, Kuzuryu and Pekoyama had brought him back to _Kuzuryu’s_ room. Which probably meant he was in _big_ trouble.

“Oh, is that so?” Kuzuryu sneered.

His red eye bored into Naegi’s soul . . .

“Eh, that’s a fair point,” Kuzuryu said.

With that, Kuzuryu nodded. Naegi was suddenly dropped. Into a comfy armchair, happily.

“Uh, I’m sorry about ruining Mikan’s show,” he lied.

“You should be!” Kuzuryu spat. Before, he had been pacing in front of Naegi’s armchair, hands clasped behind his back. Now, either one slammed down on the armrests as Kuzuryu leaned in, and Naegi found himself burrowing backwards into the backrest.

“I thought you knew her,” Kuzuryu said. “I thought you knew what she was like. You know what happened yesterday? She was so embarrassed by that shitstorm you made, that she’s refused to do any more vivisections. I’ve spent the last two days yelling at all the disappointed viewers. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass that was?”

“Oh. That must have been annoying. But, it was despairful, right -?”

“Don’t give me that shit.”

Naegi froze. No? Not despairful? That . . . that wasn’t supposed to happen! His stomach did a very interesting flip as Kuzuryu crouched down to his eyelevel.

“Look, Naegi.” Kuzuryu’s voice was soft. Soft enough to ring alarm bells. “Do you really think I don’t know what you’re up to?”

“I-I . . .”

“I don’t want to yell at you, okay? Why don’t we try to reach a bit of an understanding?”

“O-okay.” There was no other option.

“Alright. I got a little video I want you to watch. I think it’ll help you understand what we’re all about.”

“A video,” he said warily. He remembered what Komaeda’s videos were like.

Kuzuryu straightened up. “Just an anime.”

He snapped his fingers, and a pair of Monokumas wheeled a TV set in. Pekoyama was already in motion, scooping up a tape that had been laying on the end table next to Kuzuryu’s bed. The Monokumas saluted, and then scurried out of the way as Pekoyama walked over and grabbed the power chord. As she walked over to the outlet, Kuzuryu stepped behind Naegi’s armchair. That blond head peeked out from behind, as did his arms, which curled around to rest on Naegi’s shoulders.

“What am I going to be watching?” Naegi asked, already leaning away from the screen in anticipation.

Kuzuryu chuckled and squeezed his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me. You’ll enjoy it. . . Peko, you done just standing there?”

Pekoyama jumped. She had already plugged in the set, but had stalled for some reason afterwards. Kuzuryu’s reminder was enough though to spur her into action, more specifically, to get her to move towards the television. She stopped there, and looked at the tape in her hand.

Kuzuryu snapped his fingers. “Alright. Let’s get this rolling.”

Pekoyama looked up. Her hand trembled as she held the tape.

“Young Master, are you sure about this? This is not a decision you can turn back from –”

“Are you fucking questioning me?”

Naegi turned his head, catching the profile of Kuzuryu’s face. He had been about to defend Pekoyama, but hesitated when he realized he was staring right into the eyepatch.

No. That didn’t matter anymore. (His brain did a mental reset).

“Kuzuryu-kun, I know you’re the boss, but you should still listen to everyone. Maybe they thought of something you didn’t.”

“I always listen to the others if they’re worth listening to. Peko isn’t,” Kuzuryu said gruffly.

Naegi sighed. He hadn’t really expected to make much ground there. He pointed his face forward again, meeting Pekoyama’s eyes. In them was an agony he couldn’t understand . . .

“The fuck you waiting for? Put the damn thing in!”

The tape slid in.

The screen turned on.

A haunting melody filled the room. It was sung in a voice he almost remembered, that in the back of his mind, he knew he _should_ remember. It lured him in like a siren’s call, and the screen, grainy and filled with static, seemed to grow as if he were shuffling towards it. Bit by bit, the image repaired itself, starting in the center and radiating outwards as strange colours flickered along the outside. The song weaved through the air in peaks and swoops, falling into a hypnotic rhythm.

**Do you see?**

The last grainy parts of the image spun around once like a gear, and then snapped into place. He was flying above a class filled with faces he didn’t recognize, soft and vulnerable as they gazed up at him with something like fear –

Blood.

Blood.

It was everywhere.

**Do you see?**

He wanted to run. He wanted to look away. In the back of his mind, he was aware he _was_ trying to get away. He didn’t understand. Why? Why were they doing this? He watched with uncomprehending horror as one after another, they fell; as they cried and begged and ran and _chased down each other_. What was this? Why? _Why_? _Why would they do this_?

**Do you see?**

And it was over. They were all dead. It was over. It was over and there was no more violence –

It rewound, and started again.

**Do you see?**

Deep within him, something seemed to stir. The woman continued to sing with her high, scratchy tones and there was laughter mixed with the music. He almost wanted to laugh himself, because wasn’t that what you should do? Such mindless, extreme slaughter . . . what else could you do but laugh? What else could you do but find the light in the darkness? Even when it was wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong

 **DO YOU SEE**?

It felt like someone kicked his brain. His nerves jolted, and his eyes widened.

Yes . . .

Yes, he did. He _saw_.

He was silent as the story played out on the screen in front of him, again and again. He was barely, just barely aware of Kuzuryu rubbing his shoulders. Colours flickered, sounds swung in and out of focus, teasing. Phantom images danced just beyond the ones shown by the screen. He tilted his head to try and get a better look.

The screen lit up one last time, and then all was silent. No one breathed. There was no sound until Pekoyama pressed the TV’s off button. Her lips were thin, pale, as if drained of blood.

Kuzuryu stepped out from behind the armchair and in front of Naegi. His smiled seemed to stretch completely across his face.

“Hey, Naegi.” Kuzuryu’s voice was breathy and vibrating, like he could barely keep himself from bursting into an excited squeal. “How you feeling?”

“How do I . . .?”

“Yeah.” Kuzuryu nodded so vigorously, his fedora nearly fell off. “How you doing? Did you like our little anime?”

“Yeah . . . I did.”

In his periphery, Pekoyama turned her head away sharply. Kuzuryu’s hands were pressed flat against each other in front of his lips in excitement.

“You enjoyed it, huh?” Kuzuryu pressed.

“I did. I thought . . .”

“Yeah?”

“. . . That it was really well put together.”

Kuzuryu frowned the tiniest amount. “Put together . . .? “

“Like the way the music and those colours in the background worked together was really neat, and they were timed perfectly! I definitely wouldn’t have noticed the weird colours if I was someone else.”

“Uh . . .”

“And it was really smart to overlay it on top of such intense imagery. You know, because that lured out certain parts of the mind so that the hypnotism could reach it. And the way it messed with your emotions by giving you a breather and then hitting you with all those feelings again was really well done, too!”

“That’s . . .”

“Whomever made this definitely knew what they were doing,” Naegi said cheerfully. “Was it you? I didn’t know you were so good with editing!”

“No, it wasn’t me . . . Is that it? That’s all you got to say about it?”

“I mean, I can say more,” Naegi said, “but the point is it was really well done . . .”

“No! No, that’s not the point!” Kuzuryu tripped over his words. A bit of spit flew from his mouth as he spoke. “What about all those pointless deaths? What about the violence. What about the _despair_?”

“Huh? Oh yeah. There was a lot of that, wasn’t there?” Funnily enough, even though he had watched that video less than a minute ago, he had trouble remembering the actual content.

Oops. Kuzuryu wasn’t going to like that.

“Sorry,” he said, “I wasn’t really paying attention to that part. I was really distracted by the subliminal messaging tricks. It’s really neat stuff.”

Kuzuryu stared at him, gaping.

And stared.

“Umm, Kuzuryu-kun, are you okay?”

Kuzuryu stared at him.

Pekoyama cleared her throat. “I believe the Young Master does not want to be disturbed. Naegi-kun, please take your leave.”

“Ah, okay. Am I still grounded?”

Kuzuryu stared at him.

“. . . Is that a yes?”

Kuzuryu stared at him.

“It’s a yes, isn’t it.”

Kuzuryu stared at him.

“Yeah, dumb question. I’llgotomyroomnow-“

He scampered off. The door shut behind him. Kuzuryu didn’t move. He was still staring at the spot where Naegi had been.

Then, finally, he spoke:

“ _What the fuck?!”_

* * *

“No, seriously. _What the fuck?!_ ”

It was the third, maybe the fourth time Kuzuryu had repeated that last phrase. His face had frozen in unrepentant shock, and he walked stiffly with arms at his side. Almost alarming. Almost worth getting upset with Naegi for. However, even though Naegi was definitely responsible for the Young Master’s state, it wasn’t exactly something Pekoyama was angry about.

“What the fuck!?”

Ah, it appeared they would be aiming for five repetitions.

“Did I grab the wrong one? Was that a bum copy?” Kuzuryu asked quickly. One hand had risen to his mouth, and he looked as though he would start nibbling on the knuckles in worry. “He . . . people don’t do that! That’s not what’s supposed to happen. You aren’t supposed to watch that video and . . . and start talking about the fucking music!”

Kuzuryu stopped suddenly. His eye slowly widened in horror.

“Is this because he’s the Ultimate Hope?”

That . . . was a distinct possibility. It remained unknown to either party how Naegi had so easily resisted the brainwashing video, especially given his track record of reactions to other scenes of death. Yet, while Naegi had broken down over the transplants, the wretched brainwashing anime he had seen had rolled off his back like water off a duck. It didn’t make sense.

Kuzuryu mumbled to himself. “No. It can’t be. His talent doesn’t let him do that”

Pekoyama had the distinct sense that Kuzuryu was saying that because he needed to, not because he believed it.

“We . . . we got other copies, don’t we? Better copies. And we have a couple more videos we can try. It was just the one he saw. One of the others will work. They’ve got to work!”

Filled with renewed confidence, Kuzuryu shoved the doors open to the large storage room where they kept the tapes. He tossed the _defective_ tape carelessly onto a shelf next to the door, and then strutted inside. With Pekoyama at his heels, he strode down the length of the first shelf, and then rounded the corner there to find the remaining tapes’ hiding place –

“Wh-what?”

Kuzuryu ran forward. Fell to his knees. He landed next to the bits of metal and plastic strewn haphazardly across the floor.

“What the hell happened here?”

To be honest, that much was obvious. It was the _how_ that was a mystery. How had these tapes ended up smashed and thrown across the ground? A quick glance at the adjacent shelf where the brainwashing tapes should have been confirmed that the trash seen here was, indeed, the rest of the brainwashing tapes. Kuzuryu looked like he was going to cry as he picked up a handful of rubbish, and it fell through his fingers.

“Who the hell would do this?” he wailed. “Naegi couldn’t have known, could he? I sure as hell didn’t tell him!”

Pekoyama opened her mouth, about to agree with that assessment –

There was a clatter from the entrance way.

The two of them rushed back, stopping short at whom they saw.

Komaeda stared back at them. His hand was still raised from when he had swatted the _defective_ tape off the shelf like a cat.

Kuzuryu snarled. “Why am I not fucking surprised?”

In that moment, Kuzuryu looked like a wolf; teeth bared, hackles rising, body pointed like an arrow at his prey. Komaeda, on the other hand, was the full-grown stag, watching, waiting for the wolf to lunge so he could crush it with his rock-hard hooves. Pekoyama kept a close eye on them, unsure if or when this would escalate into true violence.

“Well?” Kuzuryu barked. “You got anything to say for yourself?”

Komaeda’s head tilted to one side. “Are you going to leave Naegi-kun alone now?”

“The fuck do you think? This may be news to you, but _I’m_ in charge here, not you!”

Komaeda was silent.

He lifted a foot.

Then, never breaking eye contact with the head of the yakuza, he brought his heel down _hard_ on the center of the last tape.

The _crack_ was deafening. For the second time in that short hour, Kuzuryu was shocked into silence. Komaeda happily took the opportunity to _grind_ his heel – and the tape underneath – into the floor. Through it all, he never once broke eye contact.

Kuzuryu spoke. Well, he tried to, but it sounded much more like the wheeze of a dying man. In contrast, Komaeda didn’t seem to have taken a single breath during the entire encounter. For a moment, it appeared Komaeda would say something himself. Then, however, his eyes flickered to Pekoyama. The Luckster turned and very quietly, very calmly, left Kuzuryu and Pekoyama in the storeroom.

Silence.

“YOU BASTARD!”

* * *

Naegi coughed. He kicked his feet. He hummed a tune. It was all a valiant effort to dissipate some of the awkwardness, but that just wasn’t happening. Kamukura continued to stand there as Naegi sat on the edge of his bed. Kamukura was just staring at him. So, it was a typical meeting between them.

At least Kamukura wasn’t asking about Alter Ego.

Naegi had the distinct sense of being scanned as Kamukura dipped his head briefly. Kamukura raised it again, then flicked his wrist like a magician, and a small photograph appeared out of thin air between his middle and ring finger. He rotated it thusly, so that the front faced Naegi, and Naegi leaned forward to get a closer look.

“That’s Kirigiri-san!” he said happily. “It’s a really nice picture of her.”

Watching Naegi closely, Kamukura lifted his other hand.

He ripped the photo in two.

Half of Kirigiri’s face floated to the floor in front of his dangling feet. Naegi traced its path with dismay, whining. The other half had crumpled to the ground at Kamukura’s feet. The pieces were big and close together so that one could easily tell what the whole image had been, but it didn’t change that Kamukura _had ripped Kirigiri in half for no reason_.

“What was that for?” Naegi cried.

Kamukura stared at him.

“. . . You’re fine,” he said, before turning on his heel and walking away.

“What -?”

Kamukura was already gone.

He turned to Alter Ego.

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing something important?”

“Yes. I do feel that way.”

“As long as it isn’t just me.” Naegi sighed. “Man, I’m bored. How long do you think I’m going to be grounded for?”

“Umm, I don’t think I can say,” Alter Ego said. “You’ve been here much longer than me, so you would know better.”

“That’s true. If I had to guess, it won’t be too long. But the thing is, there was someone I really wanted you to meet. His name’s Iwata Torio. He’s part of the Future Foundation, too!”

“He is? Is he a spy?”

“No. He was captured by Ultimate Despair. A long time ago, I think. I never asked. But I know he was in Seventh Division, and he said he has a niece in Sixth Division, too!”

He looked at Alter Ego hopefully, face falling when the robot shook its head.

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of his niece,” Alter Ego said. “I don’t know anyone in the Future Foundation other than our friends.”

“You don’t?” Naegi said, surprised. “I thought everyone was working for them.”

“They are. Except Fukawa-san. I think the Future Foundation is afraid of her alternate personality. But Kirigiri-san and Togami-kun didn’t want me to meet anyone from the Future Foundation. They said they needed me as a trump card.”

His chin sunk into his hands. “Well, if they say so, then it must be true. What do they do for the Future Foundation anyways?”

“Kirigiri-san just became head of the new division!” Alter Ego said proudly. “They’re in charge of public relations, so she goes around meeting people, and answering questions, and makes lots of speeches.”

Naegi nodded. “I can see that. She was a good leader at Hope’s Peak. She’d be good at that. What about the others?”

“Hagakure-kun works in the division with her,” Alter Ego said. “I’m sure he’ll do a good job, too!”

. . . Alter Ego wasn’t going to say anything else? If this was Alter Ego’s way of trying to avoid talking about the others, then it was honestly a little pathetic. Naegi cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow, letting Alter Ego know he hadn’t been fooled.

“The others were supposed to work in Kirigiri-san’s division too, but . . . Data Classified!”

“Classified?” he repeated. “Why?”

“Sorry. Kirigiri-san doesn’t really like me talking about it, but you don’t need to worry about them. I’m sure they’re fine.”

“If that was true, then why can’t you tell me?” he pointed out.

“She doesn’t want you to worry.”

. . . Which was the best answer to give if you _wanted_ the other person to worry. Naegi’s face seemed to tell enough, because Alter Ego was suddenly shaking his head and holdings his paws up to placate him.

“Nothing’s happened to them!” Alter Ego said. “They’re just on a secret mission.”

Naegi stared. Could it be . . .?

“Komaru? Is it my sister?”

“Well, since you figured it out by yourself –”

Robots didn’t need to breathe. Thus, robots couldn’t have their words smothered by a too-tight hug.

Somehow, Naegi managed it anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Kuzuryu doesn't give up that easy!


	66. The Second Shot

“Alright! Commencing secret operation Invade Makoto-chan’s Lovenest in five, four . . .”

“Just hurry up and bust down the door already!”

“ . . . threetwoone _gooo_!”

 _Bang_. With a single strong kick, Mioda knocked down the door to Naegi’s room. She landed in the center of her fallen opponent, and sucked in air with an hissing sound that resembled a crowd gasping in surprise. Behind her, Saionji strutted into the room.

“Bet you’re happy to see us,” Saionji said. “I can’t believe you’re just staying in your room. That’s so boring!”

“It’s because I’m grounded,” Naegi said from his place on the bed. “Also, my door was unlocked. You didn’t have to kick it down.”

Mioda looked at him earnestly. “But how else could Ibuki make a dramatic entrance?”

Naegi threw his hands up in defeat.

“What do you mean you’re grounded?” Saionji demanded. “Did you get caught doing something perverted? I bet you did! I bet you–”

Naegi said, “If you really want to know, it’s because of what happened with Mikan’s show . . .”

The two girls exchanged a look.

“Oh, yeah! Ibuki knows all about that. After all the yelling and stuff, Baby Gangsta –”

Saionji elbowed Mioda in the gut.

“So, you’re grounded. Like a five-year-old?” Saionji started giggling, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Did he send you to bed without dinner, too?”

“He might have, but Komaeda-kun brought me . . . Hey!”

Too late. Saionji was really laughing now. Mioda, seeing how Naegi drooped in embarrassment, slid across the floor and draped her arm around his shoulders.

“Aww, cheer up!” she said. “It’s only because you’re the baby. Plus, you’re the same size as Baby Gangsta so that makes you twice the youngest!”

“. . . Right.”

“But,” Mioda said, stretching out the vowel, “we heard you were spending all day in your room, and weren’t coming to my rehearsal, so Ibuki decided to move the rehearsal to you!”

“I see.”

Without moving his head, he glanced around the room. The small room. The small, enclosed room built to hold sound. Naegi had been attending Ibuki’s rehearsals nearly every week, and had since grown used to the loud, heavy chords, screeching guitars and hoarsely shouted lyrics. Mostly by not paying close attention. However, all those rehearsals had been in a large, open auditorium, where there was plenty of time for the sound waves to fade before they hit the walls, bounced back and reached you. A tight room like this would surely be a different story, and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out how it went.

But while he had reservations, Mioda and Saionji did not – how could they when they had Monokuma soldiers huffing and puffing as they speakers into the room. Mioda wasted no time in directing them to cram the speakers onto his desk. She already had her guitar out, and was making motions as if to pluck the strings, stopping just short of making contact. Saionji, on the other hand, was holding a closed fan in one hand, and smoothing down her pink kimono with the other.

“You remember what we’re supposed to be doing?” Saionji asked Mioda.

As Mioda nodded, Naegi couldn’t help but speak. “Saionji-san, are you doing something, too?”

“Yeah,” she said casually. “I heard that you saw Mahiru’s photos. Which means I’m one of the only people who hasn’t shown you their talent, and that’s stupid. I’m not letting someone like _Komaeda_ think he’s more important than me! Ugh. Let’s stop talking about him. It’s making me want to puke.”

“It is time to start jamming?” Mioda asked, quivering with excitement.

“Sure. Let’s get this over with.”

“Yeeeeaaaahhhh!”

Mioda brought her hand down.

A powerful note rang through the air –

Only to be drowned out by a bellow.

Kuma lunged across the room, reared up and _slammed_ his front paws into the speakers. With one hit, he knocked them both off the desk like dominos, where he promptly began stomping and clawing them with all the rage and intensity of a startled grizzly. It wasn’t long before the speakers had been rendered useless.

“I’m so sorry!” Naegi said, both to his visitors and his bear. “I forgot he doesn’t like loud noises!”

Kuma was still huffing and snorting, so Naegi ran over there to try to soothe his worries. Mioda had a strange look on her face that thankfully didn’t seem to be one of hurt. Saionji was wearing the much more classic expression of surprise.

“Okay, the bear’s got to go,” Saionji said.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Naegi repeated. “Uh, Kuma, go find Tanaka-kun. Just for a little while.”

It took a lot more prompting and pushing but eventually, Kuma seemed to get the idea. Still holding a part of the speaker – his trophy – in his mouth, Kuma ambled up the stairs at his own leisurely pace. Naegi shut the trapdoor behind him.

“Are you still able to play?” Naegi asked.

“Sure,” Mioda said. “It just means Ibuki can’t be as loud as she wants this time.”

Ah. So that was it, eh? He secretly made a mental note to give Kuma some marshmallows later.

“You need to sit down and watch now,” Saionji said. She shoved him backwards. His legs hit the side of the bed, and he fell into a sitting position. She then moved away, turned to face him, and snapped the fan open with a jerk of her wrist.

“Prepare to be amazed,” Saionji said with a smirk.

Naegi couldn’t help but asking, “Is this a dance I should know?”

“No, it isn’t,” she said slyly. She took a step to the right, but really, it looked like she had glided across the floor. “Don’t worry. _Everyone_ loves this one.”

Naegi’s smile flickered. Something in his gut twitched. Something was off about that smirk. Something wasn’t quite right –

The guitar roared into life, and wiped everything away.

That twitching in his gut turned into a deep stretching. Mioda’s guitar strings seemed to be attached to his nerves, so that they tightened and rattled in response to the notes. That wasn’t unusual. That’s what her music did, and why it was so hard for the unaccustomed to listen to it. Naegi though, had learned, and he listened to her music with his usual brand of absent-mindedness and rapt attention. Actually, it was easy to bare, this time. Mioda’s usual brand of music wasn’t exactly something Saionji could dance to, so she had exchanged her swift, nimble finger-work for slower, more emotional sounds. Very emotional. That stretch in his gut evolved into a full-fledged quiver as some primal part of him recognized resentment, _rage_ in the sounds and reacted appropriately.

And Saionji began to dance.

It was not her that moved. No, it was the universe that did, constantly shifting and turning to ensure Saionji remained right at its center. She moved like water, but her kimono danced like fire, sucking in thought instead of oxygen, so that he couldn’t even think of looking elsewhere. The sun and moon rose and fell with her, and there was nothing but those graceful movements as light fell upon her brow and cried that the gods had chosen this girl as their vessel.

The guitar howled again, vibrating in low rumbles that spoke of apologies forgotten, long-lived injustice and lingering grudges. it was a song of power and predation, where everything was torn from the hands of another. The animalistic part of his mind recognized it, reveled in it; he jerked in surprise at the sudden rush of red-hot energy.

Saionji continued to dance. He didn’t know how she did it, how she could twirl and move like that without her eyes ever leaving you. Such lovely eyes they were, luring him in, captivating him, pleading, begging with him to _listen_ , to hear what the song was telling him. There was no need to think. Raw instinct would be enough. Just _listen_ and you would hear it. You would know what you needed to do if you just _listened_ –

_To that unholy screeching what was that?!_

It wasn’t just him. Saionji reeled back, dropping her fan. And Mioda continued to play.

“Whoohoo! Like that? It’s Ibuki’s new single: Sneak Attack! Makoto-chan never saw that coming!”

“What the hell!” Saionji screeched.

If Mioda’s sudden change in music hadn’t shook him out of . . . whatever that had been, Saionji’s reaction did. Mioda was still rocking out, having reverted to that screaming music everyone in the room was accustomed to, and shouting at the tops of her lungs.

“I said _what the hell!_ ”

This time, Saionji grabbed Mioda and yanked her. It was enough to send the Muscian’s arm flying, although she still managed to strum out a dying note that fit with what came before.

“That isn’t the right song!” Saionji protested.

“Yes, it is!” Mioda said. “It just happens to start the same as the other one.”

Mioda laughed. Saionji seemed frustrated. Naegi didn’t get it.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to be playing!” The Dancer stomped her foot like a little kid.

“But Ibuki’s gotta play from the soul!” She stretched out that last word so that it sounded like two separate syllables. “It’s not a rehearsal unless Ibuki gets to play what she wants!”

“Because it isn’t a rehearsal, dummy! Don’t you remember what we’re supposed to be doing? Or did you hit you head and destroy the few brain cells you had left?”

Naegi cleared his throat. “Uh, guys?”

Mioda groaned. “Ibuki doesn’t want to play that song. I hate that song!”

“It doesn’t matter if you like it!” Saionji snapped. “This isn’t about having fun. Kuzuryu told us to -”

“Kuzuryu doesn’t even play music!” Mioda said, with a tone as close to a sneer as she could muster. She turned her back to Saionji. “And he doesn’t listen to Ibuki’s songs.”

“Please stop fighting!” Naegi begged, still not understanding this escalating conflict in front of him.

“Yeah, but Kuzuryu’s –” Saionji started . . .

. . . Only to be drowned out by Mioda. “Not a music lover. Kuzuryu doesn’t get music. _He’s_ right: Kuzuryu can’t tell Ibuki what to play!”

“Who said . . .?” Saionji suddenly glared at him, and Naegi shuffled away. She turned back to Mioda. “Seriously? It’s just once. Just hurry up –”

“And play Ibuki’s other new single, Gangsta Baby Has No Groove? Coming right up!”

Naegi tried once more, unsuccessfully, to stop the fighting. Nothing though, could stop that bubbling tension from spilling over. Saionji loudly declared that she gave up, and then walked herself out of his room. Mioda kept playing, oblivious to her dwindling audience.

Naegi felt bad. Part of him wanted to chase after Saionji and figure out what the two friends had been fighting about. However, he was reluctant to abandon Mioda during her song. Despite her loud, confident demeanour, he had always felt that Mioda was more sensitive then she let on, especially about her talent. It could wait, he decided. Particularly since this was a new single and Mioda was bound to be extra sensitive . . .

Oh.

Interesting lyrics.

For Mioda’s sake, he hoped Kuzuryu and Pekoyama never heard her new song, but he had to admit that it _was_ pretty funny.

* * *

“You’re telling me that didn’t work either? He’s immune to that shit, too?!”

“I don’t know,” Saionji said. Again. For the hundredth time. “Ibuki changed songs partway through so I can’t tell.”

“The fuck she do that for? I didn’t ask her to move the goddamn moon or anything. I told her to play one fucking song!”

Saionji’s tone was casual, but there was a glint in her eyes as she said, “Ibuki says you don’t like her music, so you can’t tell her what to play.”

The silence was heated enough to melt a snowman. The impressive swearing that came afterwards heated it up even more. Saionji actually looked impressed.

“She’s got to be kidding! She can’t fucking expect me to sit through that fucking music! It’s inhuman. I might as well take a screwdriver and rip out my eardrums!”

“That _fucking_ music happens to be better than anything _you_ would listen to!” Saionji snapped, having taken Kuzuryu’s insult of her favourite musician to heart. “What do you listen to anyways? I bet it’s nursery rhymes. I bet Pekoyama sings you to sleep every night because you still look like a tod –”

“ _You trying to get your fingers broken?!_ ”

Pekoyama, having sensed her Young Master’s growing frustration, had taken a step away from his throne. A wise decision, too, for the Young Master’s arms flew up and out, backhanding the backrest, and surely would have hit her had she stayed. Those arms slid back to his side and Kuzuryu just sat there, taking heavy breaths.

 As if he hadn’t just threatened to break her fingers, Kuzuryu spoke with his usual demanding manner. “Go back there, wait for Mioda to finish whatever nonsense she’s doing, and then–”

“She says she hates that song and isn’t playing it anymore,” Saionji droned. “At least not for Naegi.”

“She’s . . .” Kuzuryu spluttered into silence. His cheeks had almost gone red, as if Mioda’s dismissal of his plan was a personal attack on his competence. “Then what the hell is she going to play? Nobody listens to her music except for you . . .”

“Naegi likes it, too,” Saionji said. “He usually there at her rehearsals. And it’s about time someone else with good taste showed up. It’s been so annoying having to listen to the whining of the lower class . . . Are you listening to me?”

He was not. Kuzuryu was bent over the side of his throne, face buried in his arm, which laid atop the armrest. He seemed to be a second away from flat-out screaming into the wood.

“Are you telling me Naegi got to her, too?” Kuzuryu wailed to his bodyguard.

“I don’t think it’s quite there, yet,” Pekoyama answered.

“Whatever. Go do whatever the hell you want, Saionji.”

The Dancer flounced off. Kuzuryu was still bent over the armrest, limp. Pekoyama waited patiently until he pushed himself up.

“What time is it?” Kuzuryu asked wearily.

“Nearly noon.”

“Fuck.” Kuzuryu closed his eye as he swore at the ceiling. “We better get going.”

They left his room, and began to walk. Kuzuryu was quiet; the normal aura of power he exerted was notably subdued. Given where they were headed, Pekoyama would have been anxious regardless, but her Master’s quietness certainly wasn’t helping matters.

“Hey, Kuzuryu! How’d it go?” Nidai bellowed as he saw them walking by. “Has he decided to join the team yet?”

“No.” Kuzuryu scowled. “Bastard didn’t even budge.”

Nidai laughed uproariously as he followed them. “Shit! The kid’s got balls! I’m telling you, he’d be a great athlete once he shakes off that mediocre self-esteem.”

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Kuzuryu snapped, “because I’m the one who has to give an update to Enoshima-san on this fucking mess in. . . five minutes.”

That stopped the laughter. Everyone, even Pekoyama, winced.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. I fucking know. I was supposed to tell her that we’d succeeded and Naegi was ready to take up his duties, but now, I gotta tell her that he’s still trying to fucking Hope everything and he’s the only goddamn person in the world immune to her despair video!”

“Say, what happened to that thing?” Nidai asked. “Hanamura-kun told me that it broke.”

Kuzuryu grit his teeth.

“Komaeda-kun smashed them,” Pekoyama said. “It appears he found out about our attempt to use it on Naegi-kun.”

“Komaeda’s becoming a real fucking pain,” Kuzuryu said. “We’ve locked him up for a few days to see if that calms him down. I should have been keeping a closer eye on him instead of Kamukura.”

“Yeah. Well, try to calm yourself down a little. You don’t want to lose your temper with _her_ ,” Nidai said. He nodded at the door in front of them, which would open into their destination.

“Right. Calm.” Kuzuryu’s voice shook a little. He opened the door.

Nidai followed him and Pekoyama inside; although the Coach wasn’t supposed to be here, nobody had the heart to deny him a chance to speak to their ruler supreme. Inside the room, Nevermind was already waiting. She stood gracefully as the three entered, dipping her chin in greeting, but not enough to obscure view of her pleasant smile. The screen on the wall she had been facing was black, waiting for the call from Towa City.

“Ah, Fuyuhiko! I pray you have good news?”

“. . . No,” Kuzuryu said. “It didn’t work.”

“I see,” Nevermind said. “Then it appears force is not the proper tool for this task. Perhaps we should try more diplomatic means? That is Makoto’s tactic of choice, after all.”

“You’re going to try to talk him into giving up on hope?” Kuzuryu asked skeptically.

Nevermind smiled mysteriously. “Not I. However, I do have a candidate in mind.”

Kuzuryu grinned. “Not Komaeda, I hope. Who is it?”

“It’s –“

She never finished.

“Enoshima-san!” With stars in her eyes, Nevermind turned to the screen.

“Yeah, whatever,” the white-painted Monokuma said. “So, what’s my _kid_ up to?”

All eyes turned to Kuzuryu.

He gulped.

* * *

“It could have gone worse.”

“How? How could that have possibly gone worse?”

“Well . . .” Nevermind chewed her lower lip. “Hmm, perhaps you are correct.”

“Yeah, well . . . Fuck. I’m going to my room. I’m going to watch videos of puppies dying, and maybe shoot a few people and. . . and maybe fantasize about stabbing Naegi in his fucking hope!”

Grumbling, swearing under his breath, Kuzuryu marched out of the room, Pekoyama following. Nevermind, seeming concerned about Kuzuryu’s emotional state, went after them. Nidai, having been watching the proceedings from the other side of the room, didn’t reach the door in time before it closed-

The screen lit back up.

“One of you? Good. Just what I wanted. I’ve been thinking about this situation,” Enoshima said, “and I have a suggestion.”

“Uh, are you sure you don’t want me to grab Nevermind or Kuzuryu?” Nidai asked.

“How about . . . of fucking course not! Haven’t you heard that too many cooks spoil the broth?”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t –”

“ _Ugh_. Just shut up, will ya? Look I got a task for you, okay? So be quiet and listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, Mioda and Saionji are not capable of brainwashing the way the despair videos are. They can, however, temporarily control the emotions of their audience and use that to induce them into spreading despair for a little while. Of course, that only works when Mioda is willing to play along, and Mioda isn't particularly fond of "forcing" people to like her music - especially when they seem to already like her songs.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi gets a surprise.


	67. The Coach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized today that Nidai and Owari never had chapters named after them!
> 
> In other news, if you go back to the comments from the very first chapter, you'll see an anon comment that links to two images. I think they describe the first 12-ish chapters of this story perfectly.

“No, no . . . See? It’s a great idea. Just trust me!”

Kuma stared at him, not looking the least bit convinced.

“Come on, please! Just bite down.”

Naegi tried again to stuff the hood of Komaeda’s hoodie into Kuma’s mouth. He was sitting down, back to Kuma, reaching upwards. See, he had a brilliant idea! Kuzuryu had grounded him, but he doubted anyone would blame him if, say, Kuma were to drag him out of his room. They couldn’t honestly expect him to hold his ground against a grizzly, could they?

Which is why he had wrapped himself in Komaeda’s hoodie, and was trying to convince Kuma to grab it. Which Kuma did not seem the least bit inclined to do. But, Naegi was going to figure some way to make him do it, and then . . . uh, he didn’t know how he would convince Kuma to drag him up the stairs, but he would. Somehow.

He went up on his knees momentarily, so that he could pry Kuma’s jaws apart with his bare hands. All he managed to do was push Kuma’s lip up; the bear turned his head a little, and knocked Naegi with his muzzle hard enough that he fell onto his backside.

Maybe it was for the best, because just then, there came a tapping on his bedroom door. Well, trapdoor.

“Naegi-kun, you there?”

“Uh, yeah!” He glanced from side to side, uncertain as to whether he should toss away Komaeda’s hoodie.

Nidai came tromping down. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi! Is it time for Kuma’s walk already?”

“Uh, sure. I’ll take him this time.”

Kuma and Nidai had scuffled in the past – if you could call one side getting his butt kicked by the other party _scuffling_. While Nidai had never come close to winning, his persistence and strength seemed to have earned him respect from Kuma. Next to Tanaka, Nidai had the easiest time convincing Kuma to follow along and visit the outside world. If Naegi himself could walk Kuma, he wasn’t sure he’d do a better job than Nidai.

Just before he walked up the first step, Nidai turned around. “Do you want to come along?”

“I would, but . . . I’m kind of grounded,” Naegi admitted sheepishly. “Has Kuzuryu-kun not told everyone.”

“He has, but don’t worry about that. I’m giving you permission. That makes it my job to take responsibility if he gets upset!”

Naegi grinned. “Well, if I have your permission . . .”

Naegi expected laughter, or shouting to follow from the boisterous Coach. There wasn’t any. Instead, Nidai gave him a thin smile, and continued up the stairs. Naegi scurried after him.

Naegi half-expected the Monokumas to pounce once they saw him out of his room. They didn’t, although one of them looked at him longer than it should have, and he wondered it if was Alter Ego. (He gave the robot a little wave, just in case). Still, he stuck close to the other two, squeezing into the space between Kuma and Nidai. Monokuma soldiers did start approaching him when they drew near the entrance, but they backed down when Nidai held up his hand and explained.

Naegi hoped the soldiers would continue to respect that signal once Nidai and Kuma were outside.

“. . . Naegi-kun? I thought you wanted to come along.”

“I did come along,” he said confused. He was standing just inside the entrance while Nidai and Kuma stood in the sunlight.

“You don’t want to come outside? Gwah ha ha!” Fists on his hips, Nidai thrust his chest out. “Come on, kid. You’re nearly as pasty as Komaeda. You need some sun.”

“. . . Are you telling me to come outside?” Naegi asked, voice strained.

“Well, yeah. Did you think I asked you to come along so you could stand there and watch?”

Outside. . .? In the sun? Outside the building? Was this a trap? No, that didn’t make sense . . . it couldn’t be a trap if a Despair was standing there and telling him to do this. Then could it really be what it appeared to be, an act of mercy and kindness?

“I can come outside.” His mouth moved. Sound came from his lips. Yet, it didn’t feel like he had spoken.

“If you want. You can go back to your room, too, if you want.” Nidai’s tone had changed. Naegi couldn’t place it, but whatever it was, it seeped into the way the Coach stood, made him seem to shrivel.

“No. No, I’ll come outside.”

A clear line divided sun from shadow. Naegi crept right up to the boundary, so that the tip of his shoes touched the line. One more step, one more inch and he’d be in sunlight. He’d been outside before, of course. But always later in the day. Always when the sun had waned. This was different. The sun was high, the light so strong that he had to squint even though he wasn’t standing in it. This was _outside_.

“Okay, I’m doing it. I’m going to step outside!”

He wished Komaeda or Mikan was here to share this with him. It would have been nice to hold one of their hands, let them provide that final pull into _outside_. He was on his own, though. This last step would have to be on his own initiative.

And he took it.

The first thing that struck him was the sunlight. As in it was _way too bright_. His eyelids shut quickly, but the sun seemed to get in anyways and make his eyes water. He shielded them with his arms, pointing his face towards the ground to protect it. He stopped short, still only halfway out from the safety of the shadows, unable to go any further.

The second thing was the _heat_. He first thought, erroneously, that he had strayed too close to a heater. It was only when he realized what direction it was coming from, _where_ he was feeling the heat, that he remembered. Sunlight wasn’t just a word. It was a _thing_. It was a real thing you could see and touch.

He opened his eyes.

Still too bright. He shut one eye, and squinted with the other. He couldn’t look far – that would expose his eye to too much sunlight. He could see his shoes though, and his own shadow stretched across the ground. He took another step, stiffening when heat spread to his neck and back. Warm, rolling heat . . . it made him want to curl up like a cat and nap.

“You planning on standing there all day?” Nidai called.

“N-no, sorry! It’s just . . . Sorry, I’m not used to it being so bright.”

He _barely_ choked those words out. His throat had tightened, helping his eyes to squeeze out those tears starting to fall down his face. He could keep both eyes open now, but he had to keep his head bowed.

He inched his way towards Nidai and Kuma. With each step, he raised his head a little more, until he was finally staring straight ahead. The world was different in the sunlight. His legs buckled under a sudden spell of dizziness.

“You’re crying?” Nidai said, looking confused.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I am. Don’t worry, it’s not like _that_. I’m just . . . I’m really happy right now. I haven’t been outside for a really long time.”

Nidai looked away, frowning. “Yeah, I know. I thought . . . I figured you should get to go outside. . . at least once.”

He hugged Nidai’s waist. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Nidai grunted.

Kuma was a little way off, and Naegi started to approach him. However, Nidai’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. Naegi looked up questioningly.

“Uh, don’t go too far away,” Nidai said. “You’re not supposed to be out here.”

“Of course.”

He hoped Nidai hadn’t seen his eyes flicker to the ruins as he said that. Truth be told, given that Nidai trained with world class athletes, had a build that made him and Kuma look like they could be cousins, had once taken on _Oogami_ in a fight (that Nidai had lost didn’t matter; the fact that he was willing to go toe-to-toe with the Ultimate Martial Artist said enough), and that Naegi was . . . himself, he hadn’t considered that he would be able to outrun Nidai. Maybe if he could talk Kuma into tackling him . . . but Kuma seemed content to lie down in the sunlight and not move.

He walked up to the bear, Nidai lightly gripping his upper arm in a crude chain. Kuma’s fur burned golden in the bright light, and was warm to the touch. It was as if the bear’s coat was made of sunlight. Naegi buried his face in it.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Nidai asked.

Naegi looked up and nodded.

“Good.” Nidai took a deep breath. “That’s right. Just relax and enjoy your time off.”

“I plan to,” Naegi said with a grin. He climbed onto Kuma’s back with Nidai’s help, and sprawled over the spine. One of Nidai’s hands rested on the back of his neck. The trapped heat within the fur kissed his front similar to how the heat from the sun touched his back. While Kuma’s shoulders didn’t make for the best pillow, it was comfortable enough to seriously consider napping. Naegi frowned as he felt the fingers of Nidai’s other hand graze his chin.

“Nidai-kun -?”

There was a footstep.

Footsteps weren’t loud. Not purposely. Yet this one was loud, and still managed an air of being coincidental. Either way, it made them both bristle. Naegi – he who was _not supposed to be outside_ – slowly raised his chin, dreading what he’d find –

Oh, it was just Kamukura.

He waved. Not surprisingly, Kamukura didn’t wave back. He was doing his usual Silently Staring At You thing. Only . . . Kamukura’s stare was aimed too high. Naegi blinked, and then looked behind him as he realized that Kamukura wasn’t staring at him. He was staring at Nidai.

“Nidai-kun?” He let the question hang.

Now, Nidai wasn’t responding to him either! He was locked into some sort of staring war with Kamukura. Perhaps they were engaging in the Ultimate Stare-off! (He couldn’t help but smile at his own joke). Whatever they were doing though, there was pressure behind it. Naegi could feel the pressure waves chugging through the air, making goosebumps rise on his skin as the fronts collided and the air grew tight like an extended spring.

Thankfully, when the pressure did lessen, it wasn’t with a snap. It was gradual instead, starting with Nidai removing his hand from Naegi’s neck, and ending with him taking a couple of big steps back. Kamukura, of course, continued to stare innocently.

“Is something wrong?” Naegi asked. Under him, Kuma was stirring.

Nidai didn’t answer him. He was staring off into the distance.

Naegi tapped his side.

“Uh . . . We should go back inside,” Nidai said.

“. . . Already?” Naegi hoped he didn’t sound too pathetic.

“Yeah, before I . . . Let’s get going.”

Naegi dragged his heels, delaying his return inside. He forced himself to stare at the sun directly, wanting to see it at least once. He didn’t know when he would get to see it again.

Then, he was in the dark. Though the fluoresce of the lights inside were much dimmer than the raw sun, they were what he was used to, and his eyes adjusted swiftly. It was . . . disheartening. Nidai’s hand landed on his back, and then directed him back down the halls that would go to his room.

“. . . You have to admire that guy.”

“Who?” Naegi asked.

Staring straight ahead, Nidai said, “Kamukura.”

Naegi laughed. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool, isn’t he? Honestly, I don’t really understand that whole ‘has every talent in the world’ thing, but it still sounds very impressive.”

“He’s strong,” Nidai said, not with disapproval. “Stronger than I could ever be.”

Naegi stopped short.

“You shouldn’t say that,” Naegi said. “Kamukura-kun is the Ultimate Martial Artist and the Ultimate Boxer and all those other things, but that doesn’t mean he has to be the strongest. I mean, look at you. Your title is the Ultimate Coach and honestly, if you think about it, that doesn’t have a lot to do with physicality. But you’re still super strong, strong enough to take on Owari-san and fight Oogami-san, even though your talent has nothing to do with fighting!”

Nidai sighed. “I know, but –”

“So, you shouldn’t assume Kamukura-kun is automatically stronger than you. I don’t know if you remember, but Enoshima-san used Monokuma to fight Oogami-san to a standstill, and she didn’t have any talents that related directly to fighting either! So, I would say there’s plenty of evidence out there that your talent shouldn’t stop you.”

“Uh, Naegi?” Nidai rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Thanks for that, but the thing is I was talking about more up here.”

Nidai tapped his forehead.

“Oh.” Naegi took only a second to adjust. “Kamukura-kun is really smart, isn’t he? You shouldn’t let that stop you, though. Just because he’s smarter doesn’t mean you’re _not_ smart.”

Nidai laughed. “Nah, that doesn’t bother me. I have all the brains I need.”

“Then what are you talking about?” Naegi asked.

It seemed, at first, that Nidai would kneel to be at his eye-level. The moment passed though, and instead, Nidia remained standing, towering over him awkwardly.

Nidai said, “I know you’re not much of an athlete – though you could be if you had more passion! – but there’s something you should know about sports. It’s not all fitness. That’s only half of it. The other half is mental strength. You must want to succeed, want to improve, because how can I train somebody who cares less than me? You need to practice until you sweat blood, and enjoy it! You can’t just win, you need to _crush_ the opposition!”

One huge fist snapped shut, and _clenched_. Naegi leaned away.

“You need to keep going and do what you want no matter what anyone says! And that . . . that’s where he’s got me beat.”

His last words were surprisingly soft. They drifted on a gentle breeze, frail as butterfly wings. That clenched fist, its knuckles mottled, tightened a degree more before loosening altogether. It fell from shoulder-height to his side.

“Kamukura was a pain in the past, but you have to admire his fortitude. Nobody tells that guy what to do. If he does something, he does it because he wants to. He’ll do it because he thinks it’s right, if he’s even has morals. That kind of strength, I admire it.”

“I’ve never seen anyone boss you around,” Naegi said. “Except maybe for Kuzuryu-kun, but he’s the boss. I don’t think it’s a bad thing to listen to him, most of the time.”

“Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Nidai said. “Look, Naegi-kun, I . . . I’m not as much of a friend as you think I am.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” Naegi said.

Nidai swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “No. Not in this case.”

“Nidai-kun . . .” Naegi took a step closer. “Are you okay? I have no idea why you don’t think you have a strong mind, but it really seems to be bothering you.”

For one long moment, Nidai held his gaze. Then, he looked away.

“Hey, I know Kuzuryu-kun grounded you, but . . . that doesn’t seem right to me. I can supervise you today; that should be good enough for him. So, uh, go hang out with Komaeda, or Tsumiki-san, or whoever it is that makes you happy. Have fun. I’ll stick around and keep everyone off your back.”

“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for that?” It was a struggle to contain his excitement, but he didn’t want to bias Nidai’s answer.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle him if he gets mad.”

“I haven’t seen Komaeda-kun recently . . . but I haven’t spoken to Mikan since I crashed her show. I should probably apologize for that,” he said absently. He would have liked to visit Iwata too, but was leery of doing so in front of a Despair.

“You know Tsumiki-san decided to stop with that, right? Apparently, it’s not interesting to her anymore.”

“That’s . . . surprising!”

He had swapped that word in at the last moment. Originally, he was going to say ‘great’, but then he realized that now wasn’t the best time to confess that.

“Sure caught the rest of us off-guard,” Nidai said. “She’s been acting funny for a while now. I’m not sure what it is . . . she just feels off, somehow.”

That wasn’t good. That wasn’t very good at all.

“I don’t think it’s that strange,” Naegi lied with a smile. “It hasn’t been that long since Enoshima-san’s funeral. Maybe she’s still adjusting.”

“Good point. I forgot how much she adored Enoshima-san.”

Naegi wisely nodded along to Nidai’s words. He made a mental note to see if he could tip Mikan off later.

“Anyways, what I was trying to say was that you probably don’t need to apologize. But, you can still see her if you want to.”

“I do!” Naegi said. This time, his smile told truth.

“Okay, then. Go ahead. Have a blast . . . Make today your best day, alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi hangs out with friends.


	68. The Pact

It was surprising that he had never been inside Mikan’s room before.

Well, that was about to change! He tapped out a beat on her door, and then waited with his hands clasped behind his back. Nidai was a step behind him, keeping his promise to ward off any Kuzuryu’s creeping up on him.

Mikan’s door opened a crack. “H-huh? Does somebody want to talk to me?”

There was wonder in that question. Like the very idea was unthinkable. It made him scowl. So, he puffed out his chest, cleared his throat, and loudly announced his presence.

“Oh, Makoto!” The door swung fully open. “What happened? Is someone hurt?”

“No.”

She blinked. “Then why are you here?”

He grinned. “I wanted to hang out with you.”

“Oh! Umm, yes, come in!” She stepped aside, making room. “Nidai-kun, are you visiting, too?”

“Afraid so!” Nidai said, walking in behind Naegi. “I’m babysitting the kid today.”

“Makoto doesn’t need a babysitter,” she said. “Komaeda-kun’s the one that causes trouble.”

“He’s not _that_ bad,” Naegi said, “but, it’s nice to hear you have faith in me! Nidai-kun’s not really babysitting me though. He’s just here to keep me out of trouble in case Kuzuryu-kun sees me. I mean, I am supposed to be grounded . . .”

The confession left his lips without thinking, and didn’t even have the curtesy to give him a hint as to what he should say next. Mikan. He’d just admitted he was grounded to Mikan. Mikan, who might not laugh it off like most of the others would, but might take it very seriously.

“You’re grounded? For what?”

His clenched jaw turned into a wince. “For ruining your show. Uh, sorry about that. I don’t think I ever apologized.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t care that much . . .”

Mikan suddenly looked at Nidai.

And she morphed. Her voice hardened. Her body sharpened. One hand rested on her hip, and the other wagged a finger at him. “. . . But it was a very bad thing to do! It took a lot of time and preparation to set that up. You shouldn’t interrupt us when we’re working –”

“Stand down,” Nidai said wearily. “You don’t need to do that in front of me. It won’t change anything.”

“Umm, if you’re sure.” She didn’t sound confident. He wondered if she was thinking the same as him: that this might be a test. Did Mikan get tests, too?

Whatever it was though, it seemed to have passed. However, Nidai still looked uncomfortable, although not angry or disappointed. Nidai was smiling, but it wasn’t in the way that Komaeda did that made it impossible to tell what he was really feeling. No, that was easy to see. Something was upsetting poor Nidai, but Naegi had no idea what.

It was a good time for a distraction.

“I haven’t been in here before,” Naegi commented as he walked into the middle of the room. He turned in a full circle, drinking it in. It wasn’t like Kuzuryu or Nevermind’s fancy rooms. It was a room without a whole lot of decorations. Heavy-looking textbooks sat upon the bookshelf, with hardly a recreational novel in sight. Mikan’s clothes, all light colors, all nurse-related, waited neatly in the closet. There was one outfit out of place, a brown jacket that looked like it had been pushed to the back. On the nightstand by her bed, there was a big roll of bandages. He glanced at her bandaged leg, and wondered what hid underneath.

If he were honest, Mikan’s room was a bit depressing. It didn’t seem to have anything fun in it. Even Kamukura had entertainment in his room, although whether those things succeeded in entertaining him was a different tale. But everything in Mikan’s room seemed to have to do with her talent and work, save for the poster of her class taped to the wall, and the magazine cover beside it –

“That’s me!” he exclaimed.

“Huh . . . Oh no! Oh, I’m so sorry!” Mikan ran past him, nearly wailing as she tried to cover the magazine cover – and its image of him – with her arms. “I couldn’t help it! Nevermind-san told me one of Koizumi-san’s photos of you was on the cover of her country’s national magazine, and I asked her for one . . . I didn’t think you would find out!”

Had he been a crueler person, he would have laughed. Mikan _had_ met him, right? Why in the world would he be offended by this? That said, despite his attempt to be sympathetic, he couldn’t hold back a tiny chuckle.

“Mikan, I don’t mind,” he said. “It’s flattering.”

She did look embarrassed now. She didn’t so much let her arms fall as she did let them slide down the wall.

Naegi stepped forward, and stood next to her as he studied the cover. “It could be better, don’t you think?”

“B-better? But that was taken by the Ultimate Photographer . . .”

“That’s not what I meant. I was referring to the subject.”

“But that’s you,” Mikan said.

“Exactly. It’s _just_ me.” He spun around to face her head-on. “That doesn’t seem right, does it?”

“I don’t understand . . .”

“Don’t you have a camera somewhere? We should take a photo together!”

It took a little while to convince her, but not too long. Mikan ended up grabbing her phone, and then the two took a selfie right in front of the magazine cover. After a second, Naegi roped Nidai into joining them. This, he thought, looked much better. She looked very happy, too. She was actually a bit too happy, to the point where she insisted on giving him a checkup. He put up with it, until she started wondering aloud if he had gotten his shots, and then he decided it was time to get out of there.

He shuddered as the door closed behind. He braced himself against the wood _just_ in case. “Ugh. No shots.”

“You chose a good moment to get out of there,” Nidai said. “When she heard Akane never got one of those optional ones, she spent a whole week stalking her around campus.”

“That seems pretty lop-sided in Owari-san’s favour,” he said.

“Sure was. That’s why I sat on her! Can’t have my favourite athletes getting sick if they don’t have to!”

Naegi smiled. “It’s nice you two care about each other.”

“Yeah.”

His comment had been friendly. It had been genuine. Yet, it had also erased the smile from Nidai’s face. You could see the change sweep over him, creeping down his features inch by inch. Naegi teetered forwards off the door, and tried to get a better look.

Nidai said, “She really likes you. Tsumiki, I mean.”

“I guess. I mean, I hope so. She’s a good person,” Naegi said. “I know she doesn’t think so. She thinks she’s . . . she thinks she’s hated and not very important. Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone so wrong about themselves.”

“She’s always been like that,” Nidai said. “Never had much in the way of confidence. Didn’t really respond well to pep talks either. You had to be careful about talking about injuries, loneliness, any kind of needs really, unless you wanted to see her throw herself at your feet begging to help. Shit, even Hanamura-kun started backing off when he realized how messed up she was.”

“She’s not messed up!” Naegi bit out instinctively.

Nidai looked at him.

“You may be right about that now,” Nidai said. “She’s changed a lot since then.”

“Despair really changes a person, huh?” Naegi said, somehow hiding all his bitterness. Nidia patted his back.

“It isn’t just despair and Enoshima-san,” he said. “You remember my talent, don’t you? Do you think I can do my job without understanding teams and how they work? I can watch a ten second clip of any team playing, and tell you who’s liked, who’s hated, and who’s only there for the money. You don’t have any hope of making it to the championships if you have a team that hates each other. Teammates that like each other, they have gravity. They bend towards each other. They share a mind. Hah! That’s why Kuzuryu-kun and Pekoyama-san work so well together.”

“Umm, I’m not questioning you or anything, but what does that have to do with Mikan?”

“Not her!” Nidai huge finger jammed into his chest, forcing him back a step. “You _and_ her. You two are a team! That’s why she’s willing to stand taller, now – because she has another set of hands holding her up!”

He blushed a little. “Uh, thank you.”

“Yeah. She really likes you.”

Once again, the smile had faded from his face.

“Naegi-kun? You’re a good kid.”

He scowled and scuffed his shoe. “Not a kid.”

Nidai looked like he was going to pat him on the back. He faltered halfway though, leaving his palm hovering above Naegi’s shoulder. There was a heaviness to his actions Naegi couldn’t quite place.

“Hey! Naegi!”

By the time he turned around, Soda was there, panting with his hands on his knees.

“Where have you been?” Soda demanded. “I’ve been trying to find you for like an hour!”

“Why?” Naegi asked.

“Why? It’s _Friday!_ I got the robots all geared up for some gladiator fights, and somebody’s got to give the thumbs-up and stuff!”

Naegi glanced at Nidai and shrugged. Soda was right. _Someone_ had to give the thumbs-down! With Soda leading the way, the three of them rushed towards his workshop –

“ _What the fuck are you doing out of your room_?”

Oh. Oh dear. He cringed, feeling nervousness trickle down his back. Kuzuryu was already marching towards him, furious.

“You fucking serous, Naegi? Are you actually doing this –?“

“Hey, calm down!” Nidai said. He held out his hand, warning Kuzuryu back, maintaining the distance between him and Naegi. “It’s alright. I’m watching him.”

“It’s not ‘alright’,” Kuzuryu retorted. “Obviously, he didn’t tell you, but he’s grounded . . .”

“I know,” Nidai said.

Soda just looked between the two, unsure. “Naegi’s grounded? Uh, why?”

“For that shit he did during Tsumiki’s show!”

Naegi had already inched closer to Nidai, expecting the worst. However, Soda wasn’t angry. He didn’t start shouting. He started _laughing_ , instead.

“Aww, give him a break,” Soda said. “It’s kind of funny if you think about it.”

“Sure. Because you’re not the one who has to deal with all the complaints. And whether or not it was funny doesn’t matter. What matters is that Naegi’s stepping out of bounds.”

Naegi stepped closer to Nidai. The larger man was beside him, hand on his shoulder in an almost protective fashion. But it was Soda who squared up with Kuzuryu, sharp-toothed grin smug on his face. As if he was oblivious to the other’s fury.

“Yeah, well . . . ground him tomorrow!” Soda demanded. “We got Monokumas to destroy.”

“He’s already grounded!” Kuzuryu nearly shouted. His face was turning red, and he seemed on the verge of throwing a tantrum. “He’s going to have to skip destroying Monokumas. That’s the whole fucking point of being grounded!”

“Kuzuryu-kun, just let him have today,” Nidai said, sounding very tired. Meanwhile, Soda was creeping back towards him and Nidai –

“Run!”

There no chance to argue. Soda clamped down on his wrist, hauling him along on his frantic rush. Kuzuryu chased them a bit, shaking his fist, before giving up. Naegi didn’t look back to check up on him, but given the sound of that distant cry, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find Kuzuryu sitting on the ground with his arms crossed like a grumpy toddler.

Soda ushered them inside his workshop, and then barred the door from the inside with a plank. Afterwards, he stood back, and dusted off his hands.

“Hah! That’ll keep him out,” he said proudly.

Naegi said, “Uh, Soda-kun . . .”

“What? You don’t trust me? Who’s the Ultimate Mechanic here?” Naegi leaned back, getting away from that wrench that swung a little _too_ close to his head. “You think I can’t make something strong enough to hold him back?”

“Sorry,” Naegi said. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything like that, but. . .”

“Good,” Soda said. “Come on, we got robots to wreck.”

Soda strutted off towards a large pile of weapons located in the back. Nidai followed him. Naegi glanced back at the door.

. . . He decided not to remind Soda that the door opened _outwards_.

Soda spoke up. “Uh, Naegi? We got a serious problem here.”

“What is it?” he asked, concerned. He headed on over –

Soda held up a trident and a spear.

“Which one do I give ‘em first?”

* * *

Thankfully, it appeared Kuzuryu had honestly given up during the initial chase. Nobody dropped by to show Soda how useless his defensive measure had been. Instead, they spent the day cheering on what would have been massive bloodbaths if flesh and bone had been involved instead of metal. And of course, when given the opportunity, Naegi always gave the robots the thumb-down.

Nidai and Soda were discussing plans for next Friday (Nidai wanted to test himself against a robotic army). Naegi had crept off, spear in hand. He was lingering near the machinery used to create the Monokumas, hoping to find an exposed gear to jam.

“Hey, Naegi-kun!”

Curses! Foiled again. He let the spear slip from his fingers, and spun around. “Yes?”

“Come on, it’s dinner,” Nidai said. “Kuzuryu-kun didn’t ground you from that, did he?”

“No.”

Nidai let out a short laugh. “Good. I’d have to say something to him if he did. We don’t need a third person starving themselves.”

Naegi repeated that to himself softly.

“Nidai-kun . . . are you saying you disapprove of what Owari-san and Togami-kun are doing?”

Nidai hesitated. Something flickered on his face –

“Gwahaha! Of course, I do!” Nidai laughed loudly. Too loudly. With a volume that could only be forced. “Akane’s supposed to be on the frontline for defence. She needs her energy!”

Looking at Nidai, he didn’t think he was being dishonest. Nidai _didn’t_ approve, of that he was certain. But . . .

“. . . Is that the only reason you disapprove?” he asked.

“Huh? What was that?” Nidai asked, as if he hadn’t heard Naegi speak.

“Never mind,” Naegi said. He didn’t need Nidai to say it. He already knew the answer.

Dinner was uneventful. Apart from Kuzuryu glaring at him the entire time. Komaeda strangely didn’t seem to be around, so Nidai sat next to him. Mikan was on his other side, like usual. With Nidai’s protection he could have gone and hung out with someone after dinner, but he felt like he had already pushed Kuzuryu’s temper too much today. He chose to return to his room, instead.

“You’re a good kid, Naegi-kun.”

Naegi blinked. “Uh, thank you?”

“I mean it. I know Kuzuryu-kun is pissed off right now, but he’ll calm down. He’s always been a leader, not a team-player. You’re not, though. You’ve got great team unity with the others.”

“Thanks!” He had been a little confused by the first compliment, but these ones he understood more.

Nidai gave him a jerky nod. “You’re not weak, either. Though maybe not. . . uh . . .”

Nidai reached out, and pinched his arm. Naegi swore his almost nonexistent biceps deflated with a whine.

“. . . Yeah, not strong like that,” Nidai said. “But up there, in that thick skull of yours, there’s a lot of strength. And there too.”

Nidai pointed right at Naegi’s chest. Naegi couldn’t help but smile brilliantly.

“I hope so,” he mumbled. “It doesn’t matter if I’m not physically strong, you know. That’s why we’re friends! It’s like we can make up for each other weaknesses!”

Nidai stared at them for a long time.

“Making up for each other weaknesses . . .” Nidai sighed heavily. “Naegi-kun. . . You’re good for them.”

“Umm . . .”

Nidai’s hand rested on his shoulder. “Look, just . . . be careful from now on.”

It was eerily like what Komaeda had told him.

“Nidai-kun –”

He was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. Perhaps it was Komaeda, coming to hear another end-of-day hope eulogy. Perhaps it was Mikan, hoping to say goodnight.

But it was neither of them. It was, to his surprise, Pekoyama. Nidai had been by the far wall, so she didn’t see him when she first walked in. Her gaze locked on Naegi and with powerful steps, she strode towards him.

It was then, when Nidai would have been in the very corner of her vision, that he moved. It instantly caught the attention of the tense Swordswoman, and she stiffened, eyes widening.

“Hi –”

 _Shink_.

Nidai stopped mid-sentence. Pekoyama stared back at him, stiff-backed, hand firmly on the pommel of her half-unsheathed sword.

“Pekoyama-san, it’s just Nidai-kun!” He almost grabbed her wrist, but thought better of it at the last second.

“. . . My mistake.” She sheathed her sword again but somehow, that didn’t diminish the gravity of the action. It felt as though she was holding it in her hand, pointing it straight at the other’s chest.

“I wasn’t trying to surprise you,” Nidai offered.

Without taking her eyes off him, Pekoyama asked, “Naegi-kun, what is it you mean to do now?”

“Oh, uh. . . take a nap, I guess,” he lied. He obviously couldn’t tell them he was going to wait and hope that Alter Ego came around.

“I see. I apologize for disturbing you. We will leave you be.”

“We?” Nidai repeated.

“He won’t get any sleep with either of us in the room,” Pekoyama said. “We should leave.”

They did. The two of them said their farewells, and then tromped up the stairs. Naegi grabbed a book, kicked back, and started to read.

* * *

“Have you forgotten who I am?”

“Uh, you’re Pekoyama-san?”

She glared at Nidai as if he had called her something much worse. “I am the Young Master’s bodyguard. I am his shield. I am his right hand that bears a sword. Did you believe it was beyond my capabilities to detect _assassins_?”

That earned a violent twitch. Nidai arms rose a little, as if to shield himself.

“When we spoke to Enoshima-san, you did not follow us out.” Her lip curled. “I will assume that is when you received your instructions.”

Nidai said nothing.

“I have guarded this class for years,” she said softly. Dangerously. “My orders to protect Ultimate Despair come straight from the Young Master himself. And you have claimed Naegi-kun as one of you.”

“I know that,” Nidai said.

“Then where are you going from here?” she demanded.

“. . . Did she ever call back?”

“Enoshima-san? No. There had been no word from her since our last meeting.”

“Then . . . Don’t tell him.”

She was still.

“I don’t want . . . He’s a good kid. But if _he_ finds out, you know what will happen. You can’t tell him. You can’t let him find out the truth.”

“You’re asking me to –”

“If you give any shits about the kid, you know this has to stay our secret!”

“. . . What are you asking of me?”

“I need you to lie to Kuzuryu-kun,” Nidai said bluntly.

Her face went ashen. If one looked closely, they could see her knees shake as the world buckled on its axis. It was one thing to deceive, one thing to commit sabotage on your own will. It was another to make a pact, to declare your treachery to the world. The two sides pulled at her, one snarling and frothing, telling her to punish Nidai for his insolence, to slay Naegi herself for Despair and her master’s will; the other side was soft-spoken, memories of small smiles in the darkness, a gentle touch and gentle words . . .

“Pekoyama-san. . . _please_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Alter Ego and Naegi get in a fight.


	69. The Gentle Approach

“. . . I have recorded an forty-six second timespan where there is severe disorganization caused by the shift exchange between the soldiers and Monokumas. That’s a weakness we can use, right?”

“It’s got to be!” Naegi exclaimed. “I bet Kirigiri-san will be excited to hear that.”

Alter Ego bobbed his head up and down in an expression of excitement. Naegi wished he could write this intel down so he wouldn’t forget, but he couldn’t risk Ultimate Despair coming across his notes.

“But, I do wonder . . . it is my understanding that humans don’t track time as precisely as I do. And one minute isn’t a lot of time . . .”

Naegi shrugged. “It’s Kirigiri-san. I’m sure she’ll figure out something!”

“Yes, she is very smart,” Alter Ego said. “Togami-kun is very smart, too.”

“Which is why I _know_ they’ll figure out something together,” he said cheerfully.

“Yes, you’re right!” Alter Ego clapped his paws together. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted them. They’ll get you out of here.”

“You, too.”

“Umm, I’m not trying to say you’re wrong, but Naegi-kun, I’m not trapped here,” Alter Ego said. “I could leave anytime I want.”

Alter Ego could _leave_? Any time he wanted? Those concepts struck hard for some reason, and it took him too long to grasp what they fully meant.

Naegi stared at the robot, thinking. Kirigiri had sent Alter Ego here to deliver that cellphone. But he already had the cellphone. Alter Ego no longer had a set task. He was here, just hanging out . . . in a place swarming with guns, and soldiers, and people who would _gladly_ rip him apart should they catch a sniff of him. . .

“You should go,” Naegi said.

“Sorry?” Alter Ego said innocently.

“It’s not safe for you. If they find you, they’ll kill you,” Naegi said. Little sparks of anxiety shocked his nerves. He started pacing back and forth, restless, as if he could sense Ultimate Despair lurking at the top of the stairs right now.

“I know it’s dangerous, but I –”

“You have no idea!” Naegi snapped, that restless energy making him loss his temper, if only for a moment. “What happened at Hope’s Peak, that was _nothing_. That wasn’t close to real despair! This is the real thing. They’re . . . you can’t stay here. Go home.”

“But –”

“Just go.”

By this time, his back was to Alter Ego. That was purposeful. He didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to watch as he was left alone again. He held his breath, and waited for the sound of footsteps drawing away.

They came towards him instead.

“Naegi-kun. . .” Alter Ego’s voice was softer than any robot should be capable of. “If I was the one being held hostage and I told you to leave, would you?”

“What? Of course not –”

“Then you have no right to tell me to leave,” Alter Ego said firmly.

He gaped, unable to answer.

“You don’t understand!” he half-whispered, half-shouted. “You don’t know what they’re like. It’s not safe –”

“I know,” Alter Ego said. “Kirigiri-san told me about the things they had done. I didn’t come here to find you because she told me to. I came to find you because I _chose_ to.”

“No, no, _no!_ ”

He couldn’t take it. He fell to his knees, pulling at his hair. It was as if everything that made up his composure was unraveling like a yarn ball.

“You can’t _choose_ to be here! Nobody can. You’re not allowed! Just go home! Go home, and leave me alone.”

His shouts seemed to flow right over Alter Ego’s head. The robot didn’t even flinch.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” Alter Ego said. “You’re my friend, Naegi-kun. Please, I want to help you.”

“ _How?_ How can you help me?”

Why was he crying? There was no reason to start crying. Yet, he was. Fat tears were wetting his cheeks, clogging his nose until he sniffled. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

Alter Ego said, “I guess . . . I guess we could start by telling Kirigiri-san what we’ve found.”

He looked up warily at Alter Ego. The robot teetered backwards, then spun around and headed for the closet. When he returned, he was holding that cellphone.

“Are you ready?” Alter Ego asked.

He didn’t take it. He _snatched_ it, half-expecting Alter Ego to try to grab his wrist in return. Cradling the phone to his chest, Naegi didn’t do anything with it right away.

Suddenly, Alter Ego was in front of him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you . . . but it is going to be okay. You just need to decide to believe that.”

“. . . Okay.”

His fingers seemed fat and slippery as he typed out Kirigiri’s number. It took much too long for the first dial tone.

When she picked up, she didn’t open with a customary acknowledgement of his name. It gave him pause, made him panic for an instant and wonder if someone else had picked up.

“H-hello,” he said.

“Hello, Naegi-kun.”

Ah, so it was Kirigiri. Stress escaped him in a giggle.

“How are you today, Naegi-kun?”

He glanced at Alter Ego.

“I’m fine,” he said, the required happiness easily fitting into his voice. “Me and Alter Ego have a report to make.”

He put the speaker to Alter Ego’s mouth, and waited as the other obediently listed off everything they had discovered. Kirigiri only interrupted to ask questions, and there were few of them.

“I think that’s everything,” Alter Ego said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find out more.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Kirigiri said. “That was more than I expected. Honestly, I didn’t expect to have access to any insider knowledge”

If Alter Ego had a tail, Naegi was sure it would be wagging.

“Naegi-kun . . . how was your day?”

He blinked. That had not been a question he had expected.

“Uh, it’s been okay, I guess?”

He was quiet. This was a very strange turn for the normally direct Kirigiri. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the uncertainty.

“. . . I’m sorry. Give me a moment.” He strained his ears, certain he could hear paper crinkling on the other end. He listened so closely that when Kirigiri abruptly cleared her throat, it almost hurt his ears. In a flatter tone than usual, she asked him, “What was the most exciting thing that happened today?”

That was even stranger, if he were to be honest. This _was_ Kirigiri, right? Still, it’s not like he wanted to disappoint her or anything.

“The most exciting thing? Oh, that’s easy! Nidai-kun took me outside!”

“Out . . . side?”

“Yes!” He curled around the phone, dropping his voice as to hide his secret from anyone who may be lurking. “I got to go outside with Kuma and Nidai-kun, and it was _so_ bright out. Kirigiri-san, there was sunlight!”

“Is this a common occurrence?”

“No. That was the first time. Well, the first time I had permission. Usually, I’m not allowed anywhere near the exits. I don’t think Nidai-kun was supposed to let me outside, either. . .”

He swallowed back the plead: _Please don’t tell!_

 “I mean, I probably can get permission to go outside,” he said, “but I don’t want just any kind of outside. There’s this closed off section of the roof that they probably wouldn’t mind letting me out on, but it’s closed off by bulletproof glass and I bet it would get in the way of the sunlight, and that’s the whole point. I . . . I didn’t realize how much I missed the sun.”

It wasn’t a comfortable silence. Naegi knew Kirigiri wasn’t the best at comfort, but he had still wanted something. That was silly of him to expect, though.

“Thank you, Naegi-kun. I appreciate your answers to my questions.”

“You’re welcome?” For what seemed to be the billionth time those past few days, he felt like something was going over his head.

“You’re being very helpful,” Kirigiri said. “It’s very kind of you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done to earn this praise but . . . he liked it. It gave him a pleasant rush that brought heat to his cheeks.

“I don’t mind answering questions! I’m happy to help.” ( _He hoped she would ask more of them_ ). “Really. It’s no trouble!”

“You mentioned someone named Kuma. Who is that?”

“He’s my bear!”

“Are you referring to a Monokuma robot?”

“No, a bear. A grizzly bear."

“. . . I see. Is he tame?”

“He’s very well trained! Tanaka-kun gave him to me because Ultimate Despair is afraid I’ll be assassinated.”

“I think he’s finally decided I’m not edible,” Alter Ego added.

“Then he must have form of guard or attack training. I suppose it could be worse,” Kirigiri said. “Tanaka-kun is one of your friends, right?”

“Yep! He’s the Ultimate Breeder.”

He waited, on his metaphorical tiptoes, for Kirigiri’s next question. It didn’t come. Even his ahoge drooped in disappointment.

“Kirigiri-san?”

Her breath hitched. “Give me a moment, please . . . I’m sorry about that. Naegi-kun, how many friends do you have there?”

“Seventeen! Eighteen, if you count Kuma.”

“There are only fourteen members in Ultimate Despair. Who are your other friends?”

“Alter Ego, of course! And Kamukura-kun, and Iwata-kun.”

A sudden shock went through his system.

“Kirigiri-san! Do you ever talk to people in Sixth Division?”

“I talk to people from all divisions. Why do you ask?”

“Because in Sixth Division, there’s an Iwata – I don’t know her first name. Her uncle’s my friend! He’s a prisoner of Ultimate Despair, but he’s still alive. Could you tell her that? I bet she’s really worried about him.”

“You know I can’t do that. I can’t risk her finding out how I came across that knowledge.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he said, nearly begging. “I’m not going to tell anyone I told you. They won’t know it’s from me.”

“I wish I could, but it’s better not to –”

Without thinking, he brought out the big guns.

“But it’s for hope! Think about it; she will feel so much better knowing she might see her uncle again. Please, Kirigiri-san. Don’t you want -?”

“If I say yes, will you drop this topic?”

“Yes!”

“Then I’ll see what I can do. Naegi-kun, your friends. . . who do you wish you were closer to?”

He thought about it.

“Kamukura-kun. He’s . . .” He checked again that no one was watching him. “He’s kind of like Togami-kun. I think Kamukura-kun thinks that he doesn’t need friends, but he seems really lonely.”

“Thank you. Who _are_ you the closest to?”

Oh, the answer required here was obvious.

“Alter Ego!” He reeled Alter Ego in, and laid his chin on the robot’s head.

“I’m happy to hear that. However, if we were to keep our answers to members of Ultimate Despair . . .?”

His favourite? Oh, he couldn’t have favourites. They were all his friends! But Kirigiri was waiting; Kirigiri wanted an answer, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Umm . . . Komaeda-kun and Mikan? I don’t want to choose between them.”

“Komaeda Nagito and Tsumiki Mikan? Why do you like them so much?”

Ah, that was easy! “They’re my friends! Mikan’s really nice and brave, although she doesn’t think so. But she’s trying hard to be better and go easier on herself. You guys would like her. She’s really nice!”

“This is Tsumiki Mikan, the Ultimate Nurse, correct? The one who airs herself performing medical experiments?”

“Yes!”

There was a pause there. He had the distinct sense Kirigiri was waiting for him to say something else, so he ploughed ahead to fill up the gap.

“Komaeda-kun’s my best friend. He keeps me safe, and tells me what to do, and . . . he’s the one who let me know I’m the Ultimate Hope!”

“. . . _I_ gave you that title,” Kirigiri said, voice strained.

“Yes, but he’s the one who made me understand it.” He sprawled out on his stomach, legs kicking. “I’m spreading lots of hope, Kirigiri-san! I’m not mean to Pekoyama-san, and I watch Mioda-san’s rehearsals, and I destroy Monokumas on Friday with Soda-kun. . .”

“Friday, is that?” Kirigiri muttered, accompanied by the scratching of a pen.

“. . . and I bring Iwata-kun food, and made Mikan’s eyes switch colours, and gave photos of Nanami-san to –”

“Stop. What was that about eye colour?”

“Mikan’s eyes used to be red,” he said. “But they’re not anymore.”

“. . . That’s not possible.” From the other end, there was a medley of closing drawers, shuffling papers and other noises. “It’s not possible. What you’ve done . . . it shouldn’t be possible!”

“I never heard anything about changing eye colours in biology class, either.”

“That’s . . . Do you understand what you’re telling me? _Do you even understand what you’ve done?_ ”

“Defied the laws of biology?” He laughed. “I guess that’s hope for you!”

“Naegi-kun. . . you do remember they are Ultimate Despair, right? They’re the reason the world is like this.”

“It’s not like that!” he blurted out, defensive indignation making itself known. “They’ve . . . they’ve done bad things, but it’s because of Enoshima!” ( _He scowled as he thought about his mortal enemy_ ) “She did things to them and made them . . . She made them despair, but that doesn’t mean they’re _bad_. They’re not bad people, Kirigiri-san. They’re good inside. They’re lost. They’re just lost.”

“Naegi-kun?” That was Alter Ego, staring up at him with something like worry. Naegi shushed him.

“. . . Do you really believe they can be saved?” Kirigiri asked.

“Of course, they can be! Enoshima hurt them, but she’s gone now. I just need to give them more hope.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She took a deep breath. “I do have one thing to ask of you. Komaeda’s ‘friend on the inside’ . . . could you try to look into that?”

* * *

No Komaeda again? It had been strange yesterday when Naegi hadn’t spotted him eating with the others. It was even stranger that it had carried into the next day. He rewound the last day, and realized that Komaeda hadn’t dropped by to see him, either. That hurt.

Someone approached from behind. “Still around, huh?”

“Where else would I be?” he said to Nidai. “Uh, I’m not grounded from eating breakfast with everyone else, right?”

“No. Not that I’ve heard of. I was just worried . . . Forget it.”

The two of them were just outside the dining hall. The solider that had escorted Naegi here had left, satisfied with Nidai’s supervision. Apart from a strangely absent Komaeda, everyone else seemed to be inside.

“Where’s Komaeda-kun?” he asked.

“In one of the prison cells. Kuzuryu-kun’s hoping it will cool his head a little. He’s been . . . troublesome, lately.”

Naegi frowned. “Oh. I hope they’re not making him eat the same food as the prisoners. Am I still grounded? Can I bring him something?”

“Tsumiki-san said she’ll take care of it. Say, can I talk to you?”

Naegi smiled. “That’s what we’re doing right now!”

Nidai pushed him back a little, just enough so that no one in the dining hall would be able to see them.

“I know there’s a lot of tension between you and certain members right now. I want you to know that if you’re in trouble, you can come to me. You’re one of us. I’m going to remember that, no matter what Kuzuryu-kun might say. You can count on me.” Something in Nidai’s eyes hardened. “I’m going to be strong this time. I’m not going to give up!”

“That’s great! I’m glad you decided that.” _Even if I’m not sure what you’re talking about. . ._

“That’s the spirit! Now, let’s go in and show everyone how to _really_ eat!”

* * *

“Wonderful! You look fabulous.”

The figure nodded at the praise coming from the Queen of Novoselic. Some people would say it was a rather underwhelming reaction, almost an insult. (Indeed, one of those people were in this very room, and they were fuming). However, Nevermind herself didn’t seem to mind. She merely smiled wider at the response, and crossed the room to stand face-to-face with the other.

“I know you don’t need my reminder, but please do humour me. It would make me feel better if I am able to give you advice.”

The figure raised an eyebrow, letting her know she could continue.

“Diplomacy is a game of patience,” Nevermind said. “It is not like the methods Kuzuryu-kun tried, where you can impose your will through force. I believe that might be part of the reason he failed. I would not desire him in my court if it were his physicality that guided my decision, but Makoto's mental strength is quite remarkable. So, please, do be patient. There is no need to achieve results immediately. Try to establish a relationship first. Although for you . . .”

Nevermind stepped back, and something dark twisted her smile.

“. . . I imagine that will not be an issue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn't obvious, I was being serious when I told people in the comments that Kirigiri had consulted the Ultimate Therapist.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Sonia's cat's-paw begins their assault.


	70. The Sleeping Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of things happening this week for me. Why am I telling you this? Because the next update will be on **April 26**.

“Do you have any eights?”

“Yep. That’s my last card.” Naegi leaned back as that vicious round of Go Fish came to an end, and rubbed his forehead as if to wipe nonexistent sweat off his brow. “How do you keep doing that?”

Alter Ego squirmed uncomfortably. “Umm, good luck?”

“. . . Are you cheating?”

“It’s not cheating!” Alter Ego nearly wailed. “I keep track of the cards that have been played and what’s been asked and calculate the probability of which ones would be in your hand. . . Is that ch-cheating?”

“No, that’s not cheating. You can’t help it,” Naegi said. He reached over and patted Alter Ego on the head like a dog. “I wonder if that’s how Kamukura-kun does it. Did I tell you about the time I played Go Fish with him and Komaeda-kun? I got crushed.”

Alter Ego reached over to pat _him_ on the head. “Don’t be upset, Naegi-kun. It’s just a game.”

Naegi laughed. “I wasn’t upset. Embarrassed, mostly. Looking back, now I’m just amazed. It takes an awful lot of skill to beat someone like Komaeda-kun.”

Naegi started gathering up the cards. Alter Ego watched him.

“You have a very high opinion of Komaeda’s abilities,” Alter Ego said.

“Komaeda-kun is very smart,” Naegi said, idly shuffling. “Kamukura-kun knows everything, but Komaeda-kun knows _everything_. His luck is extremely powerful, too. It’s scary to think about. But he’s usually okay. It’s only when you don’t listen to him that he gets angry. Do you know any other card games? Let’s see if we can make things a little more even.”

“Cards are based on probability,” Alter Ego said.

“Well, if you can’t stop yourself from counting cards, then at least let’s play something that will be fun. I’ll teach you Spit.”

He dealt out the cards, five piles for each, two in the middle. Just as he flipped over the last top card of his piles, Alter Ego said to him, “Umm, Naegi-kun, I know you’re cold, but I don’t like it when you wear his sweater.”

“What?”

“. . . Never mind.”

He flipped over the cards for the starting pile, watching Alter Ego through his peripheral vision. “Okay, I’ll teach you how to play-”

 _Knock knock_.

“Or not,” he amended. “Come in!”

Alter Ego went to sit in the corner, and he swept up the cards with one arm.

“Sorry, I’m still cleaning up. I was playing solitaire,” he lied to the person coming down the stairs. “Uh, we could play cards, if you really want.”

He turned –

His breath hitched.

“. . . Mom?”

In all his fantasies, in all his daydreams and nightmares, never once had he foreseen something like this. He set the cards down, rose slowly, took hesitant steps forward as his eyes swept over the figure before him. Long, brown locks of hair tumbled down her back and shoulder, surprisingly clean considering the state of the world. Her face looked more haggard than memory told him, more haggard than Komaru had been, but it still resembled what it meant to. He glanced over at Kuma, and noted that he hadn't stirred.

“Makoto.”

She opened her arms to him.

He fell into them, squeezing his eyes shut as her arms enveloped him. Sucked in breath through his nose to keep himself calm. A hand tangled itself in his hair, pressing into his skull.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping back. She gripped his upper arms. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “You . . . uh . . . you should sit down! There’s a chair at my desk.”

“It would be nice to sit . . .”

She went to grab a chair for herself. Naegi took the time to pick up the cards and dropped them on a nearby shelf. It brought him close to Alter Ego, who he had spotted stirring upon hearing that Naegi’s mother was involved. He shoved the robot in the chest with his foot, letting him know in uncertain terms that he was to Keep Out of This.

He hurried to help her into the chair. He, himself, stayed standing, hand stuffed into his pockets.

“Sorry,” he said, after a sufficient silence had passed. He was staring at the wall, unable to look her in the face. “I don’t know what to say. I never thought anything like this could happen.”

“I know,” she said. “I was shocked when they told me they wanted me to speak to you . . . It’s been years since I last saw you.”

There was a lump in his throat. His words had to squeeze past it. “Yeah. It’s been years.”

“You’ve been busy,” she said. “I’ve been watching, Makoto. You’ve been through a rough time, haven’t you?”

He laughed bitterly. “That’s one way to put it. How’s Dad? Is he okay? What about Komaru?”

She looked down.

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to tell me, but . . .”

Her delicate hand grabbed his.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she said.

Finally, he swallowed that lump in his throat. There was a small tug on his hand. He followed it, let himself sink to his knees upon the hard ground. Their hands remained clasped. The thumb of her other hand was stroking his cheek. He leaned into it, closed his eyes and for a second, just let go.

“What happens now?” he croaked.

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” she said.

“You’re not going to give me advice?” He opened his eye and smiled humourlessly. “Isn’t that what mothers are supposed to do?”

She sighed heavily. “You’ve done a lot, Makoto. You’ve made a lot of enemies, too.”

“I know. I should be dead.”

“But you’re not!” she said. “You’re alive. You’re safe. The world out there, it’s . . . horrible. Even a life in prison is better than _that_.”

“Even a life with Despair?”

Her smile was kind, though tinged with sadness and regret. “What good would you be dead?”

He thought about shrugging, but couldn’t muster up the will to answer.

She patted his cheek. “Look at you. You’re safe. You’re healthy. It is really that awful to be alive? Have you ever thought of giving them a chance?”

His fists clenched.

“What do you want from me?” he rasped.

“I want you to live, sweetie.”

He was still.

He surged forward, arms sliding around her neck. His head fell against her chest. He laid there, chest moving up and down, praying to whatever gods may be to let him have this one moment, let him have this one dream . . .

But every dream had to end, and when she moved and he felt what he did, there was no point in pretending any longer. He pulled back as the shield slipped back into place over his heart. A part of him that should have never flourished, the part of him that knew how to pretend and lie and deceive, came to the forefront and guided his face into giving her the smile he knew he had to.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said.

“As am I.” She kissed the top of his head. “What I said, please, think about it. For me. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I know.”

Parting is such sweet sorrow. Was that how the saying went? If it was, he could finally claim understanding. How could he not, as her shadow on the wall grew smaller and smaller, the footsteps fainter and fainter? Such a bittersweet emotion it was to make him want to scream, want to smash his fists upon the ground, want to bite down on himself until he tasted blood. Not that she had seen his inner turmoil. She had seen only smiles. Nothing but smiles from Naegi Makoto, Ultimate Hope: Ultimate Despair’s pampered prisoner.

“Naegi-kun, your mother!” Alter Ego didn’t seem able to finish his sentence. “Your mother was here! She’s –”

“Fake.”

“I’m s-sorry?”

“It wasn’t real.” His teeth were clenched, face contorted in a snarl even as his eyes filled with tears. “It was the Imposter.”

“Naegi-kun . . .” There were a million questions in that word. He set to answering the most important.

“Ultimate Despair _hates_ my family. Saying Komaru’s name is enough to trigger most of them. They would never allow me to see my real parents.”

He rubbed at his eyes. His laughter was near-hysteric.

“When I hugged her, I hugged her around the neck so I could feel the skin on the back. I pinched it and it _scrunched_ up and didn’t go back right away when I let go. Not like skin. Like a mask. And you saw it too, didn’t you? That she seemed okay and healthy other than being really skinny? The Imposter looks like that, too.”

“Then it wasn’t your mother.”

“No. Of course not. It was just a trick.”

“Wh-why would they do that?” Alter Ego said. As if he didn’t know who they were. As if he didn’t know why Naegi was here.

“Why do they do anything? For despair.”

As that word left his mouth, he snapped. He kicked the chair the Imposter had been sitting in across the room, foot slamming down _hard_ afterwards even as hot lightning bolts of pain snaked down his toes. The chair, at least, made a satisfying _thunk_ and he almost wished the Imposter would come back down and see his scheme had failed.

“He’s trying to get to me. He wants to see me despair. That’s what they want . . . He’ll be back.”

“W-we should tell Kirigiri-san!” Alter Ego said. “Maybe she can –”

“No!” he said with a shake of his head. “There’s no point. She can’t help. All we would do is distract her from her plans.”

“But . . .”

“ _I’m_ the Ultimate Hope,” he nearly snapped. “I’m the only one who can deal with this. Alter Ego, I promise he’s not going to get to me.”

Naegi turned. Alter Ego looked up, and then stumbled back as he saw the hard fire within those brown eyes –

“. . . Because I’m going to get to _him_ first.”

* * *

Komaeda’s laughter was like a knife sliding over glass.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, rolling up to sit cross-legged behind his cell door. “Have I served my time? Is it time for my parole?”

Kuzuryu dealt with Komaeda the best way he knew how – by ignoring him. He pulled on the door dividing the two.

“. . . The lock isn’t broken,” he muttered. “Unless you buried a key in the back of your cell or swallowed the damn thing, you didn’t unlock this and lock yourself back in later. Course, you would be crazy enough to swallow a fucking key.”

“I appreciate your conviction about my determination,” Komaeda said cheerfully. When he spoke next, it was with that same cheery cadence, but his eyes had hardened into flat slates. “I have to ask though: why do you think I’m trying to get out? Are you saying there’s a _reason_ I should be trying to?”

The unspoken threat slithered through the air, seeking to strangle its prey. Kuzuryu brushed it away.

“I should be fucking furious right now. I should be asking Peko to whip you or something. But . . . fuck, I’m actually a little impressed this time. Whatever the fuck you did, it wasn’t just your luck. I might have even given you a compliment, if you _hadn’t fucking done what you did!_ ”

“. . . I’m sorry, could you be more specific?” Komaeda said. “My mind isn’t on the level of you Ultimates. I don’t know what you’re alluding to.”

If one had asked, no one would have been able to say how they knew. There was nothing in his expression, nothing in his tone or body language to suggest this was anything but Komaeda’s usual worship of his classmates. But it was there. It was undeniably there: a layer of sarcasm that coated his words like a second skin, unable to be removed without tearing off the flesh beneath. Pekoyama side-eyed her master as he flushed red and forced air out of his lungs like a snorting bull.

“You’re going to make me say it? Fine. The communication system. Well, the only one that fucking matters.”

Komaeda blinked.

“. . . I didn’t know what you were going to say in the first place, but _that_ is definitely not the answer I expected.”

“Oh, shut up!” Kuzuryu swung, as if to punch the metal bar in front of him, but he seemed to think better of it before his fist made contact. “We know what you did. Well, we know enough. Soda looked and said whatever you busted, it was part of the electrical system and . . . what the hell did you broke!”

A finger tapping his chin, Komaeda thought long and hard. “Ah, I think I’ll have to ask you to be a little more –”

He gasped. A bubble of blood grew from his nostril and then burst, the liquid slipping over his upper lip and onto his tongue with a sharp taste. Kuzuryu sneered, and then let go of Komaeda’s collar, letting him fall back from the metal bar Kuzuryu had so unkindly introduced his face to.

“Did that hurt?” Kuzuryu asked with deceiving pleasantness. “Oh, I’m sorry. Pain isn’t very fun, is it? Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to piss us off. Or did you, in that sorry excuse you call a brain, somehow delude yourself into believing that we wouldn’t be upset when you broke our best way of speaking to Enoshima-san!”

Kuzuryu was panting, nearly salivating in his righteous glee. There was blood all around Komaeda’s mouth, falling from his chin onto the floor. He tilted his head back to look at Kuzuryu, and choked as blood went up his nose and down the back of his throat.

“Kuzuryu-kun. . . what are you talking about?”

“The radio . . . satellite, the radio-satellite thing we use to contact Enoshima-san in Towa City! Yeah, we got other ways of doing it, but that was the only one with good video!”

“That wasn’t . . .” Komaeda spat out a gob of blood. “I didn’t do anything to that.”

Kuzuryu’s smiled disappeared, like it was chalk swept away by a wet cloth. “You didn’t?”

“No. What’s wrong with it?”

“Some electrical thing that Soda can’t fix. You seriously didn’t do anything?”

“I don’t know what happened to it.”

“Oh. Uh . . .” Kuzuryu looked at Pekoyama helplessly, almost begging for help. “Well, if you didn’t make yourself so fucking suspicious and act like a pain all the time, I wouldn’t have blamed you!”

Komaeda said nothing. He let the little _plink, plinks_ from his blood speak for him.

“Yeah, so . . . Come on, Peko. We’re going.”

In a truly masterful retreat, Kuzuryu shuffled out of the prison. He waited, foot tapping, until Pekoyama shut the door behind them. Then, looking at a point on the distant ground instead of her, he made his thoughts known.

“. . . We should probably get him some ice or something.”

“Do you think he would require anything else for his injuries?” Pekoyama asked.

Kuzuryu blanched at the word ‘injury.’ “It’s not my fault. He’s the one always pulling shit like this. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t him this time? But yeah, get him the fucking ice and we should tell Tsumiki and . . . shit, just let him out afterwards. He can go talk to her if he needs to.”

“You believe him,” Pekoyama said.

“. . . You know, Peko, I heard there’s this cool new fad going around called ‘Having a Memory Better than a Goldfish.’ You should look into that. Yes, I believe him.” Kuzuryu huffed, lower lip protruding a bit, similar to Saionji. “Komaeda pulls shit all the time and doesn’t tell anyone, but you know what? When you confront him about it, he never denies it. Hell, back when he was hiding Naegi from us in his room, he still confessed to taking my clothes.”

“Then it’s unlikely he’s at fault.”

“Yes, I know!” He slammed a fist on the nearby wall. “And I don’t who else would do something like that? Did Naegi get near it at any point? He’s got luck, right? Maybe his luck busted it.”

“You grounded him.”

“Yeah, I did. So, what the hell’s going on around here?”

The answer never came. Kuzuryu rubbed his brow, and muttered, “Just go get Komaeda his fucking ice.”

Before she could leave, a Monokuma soldier came marching up to them. The soldier saluted, and waited patiently until Kuzuryu gave it the go-ahead.

“Naegi Makoto has been spotted outside his room.”

“Wh-what?” Kuzuryu spluttered. “What the hell are you telling me for? Why didn’t you throw him back in?”

“Upon our approach, Tanaka Gundham made several demonic symbols to warn us away. Tanaka Gundham has taken responsibility for his supervision.”

“B-but he’s grounded! Tanaka knows that, right?”

“Yes. Everyone does,” Pekoyama said.

“Tanaka Gundham has indicated that he is responsible for removing Naegi Makoto from his room. They were last spotted entering the kitchen.”

“. . . Young Master?” Pekoyama said, alarmed by the proverbial steam rising from him.

Kuzuryu fell to his knees. His arms stretched skywards as he screamed to the heavens.

“ _Why doesn’t anyone understand what being grounded means?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be going on a one week break, until **April 26**
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi can't stop thinking about family.


	71. The Mimic

“. . . So, I’m not grounded anymore?”

“Rumour is that Kuzuryu-kun has given up,” Komaeda said, casually seated on Naegi’s bed. “Apparently, he was muttering something about how nobody was listening to him.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad I can leave my room again. There isn’t a whole lot to do here . . . You didn’t even visit.”

He didn’t mean to sound accusatory. He didn’t mean to pout. However, judging by that fond, slightly exasperated look he got from Komaeda, he didn’t succeed.

“I’m sorry,” Komaeda said. “I was a little preoccupied.”

“Did it have to do with that?” With his head, Naegi gestured to the bruise spreading out from one side of Komaeda’s nose.

“Oh, this?” Komaeda reached up –

“Don’t touch it!” Naegi hissed. He bounced from foot to foot and squeezed the wet cloth in his hand, wishing that Komaeda would hurry up and take it already. It wasn’t ice, but it must be better than nothing.

“It really isn’t something you need to worry about,” Komaeda said. “Kuzuryu-kun just lost his temper for a second. It’s all in the past.”

“That’s no excuse! You can’t hurt somebody just because you lost your temper. What if he hadn’t broken your nose? What if he had broken something else? What if he had . . . killed . . .?”

It came to the forefront of his mind in a haze. A small frail body suspended by his wrists, blood smeared on the wall behind him. A metal sphere, and the roar of a motorcycle –

“You can’t . . . You need to control your temper. If you don’t . . .” Naegi’s voice became fainter and fainter.

And of course, Komaeda was right there to take notice. He walked Naegi backwards, hand on his elbow, until the back of Naegi’s legs hit the bedframe and he fell into a sitting position on the mattress. The hand slid down to his wrist, joined by the other as Komaeda sunk to his knees in front of him.

“I know, I know. It hurt, but it brought hope, didn’t it? There’s no need to focus on the bad stuff. Think about the good!”

Naegi shook his head. “It’s not worth it . . .”

“Yes, yes. I know.” A fingertip glided across the back of his hand. “But it’s nice for there to have been some good in their deaths. Isn’t it nice to know their deaths weren’t completely meaningless?”

“I . . . guess.”

“I don’t think they would want you to mourn them forever. I think they would want you to keep spreading hope. Oowada-kun and Fujisaki-kun would want you to –”

_Bang!_

Komaeda looked backwards with surprise. He didn’t seem any less surprised when he saw the Monokuma robot standing there, underneath the desk it had stood up too quickly beneath.

“That robot’s still here?” Komaeda said.

“It’s heavy?” Naegi offered.

“Hmm, I can see that. Here, I can help you get it out.”

Did A.I.s feel emotions? Could Alter Ego feel emotions? Logic would say no, but the way Alter Ego was looking at Komaeda didn’t seem normal. Or maybe it was just him, because Komaeda didn’t seem concerned. He was pushing up his sleeves, walking towards the small robot. The small robot that was slightly hunched over, like a hunting lion.

Suddenly, Naegi knew. He couldn’t let the two make contact.

“K-Komaeda-kun!” He lunged forward, and latched onto the other’s hoodie. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Success! Komaeda stopped walking towards Alter Ego, and whatever fate that would have brought.

“Could . . . can I speak to my s-sister?”

He had to ask. The woman resembling his mother might have been the Imposter, but it had still roused grief and longing. His ‘mother’ had been fake, but Komaru was real. Komaru was real, and a video call away. And although the last time he had talked to her things had gone horribly wrong, he still wished – still _hoped_ – that Komaeda would show mercy.

“I won’t run!” he swore. “You can handcuff me, or tie me up, or do whatever you want. I just really want to speak to her again.”

Komaeda was silent.

“Can you at least tell me she’s okay?” Naegi begged. “Please! I haven’t heard anything about her since the last time I spoke to her.”

Komaeda opened his mouth, and he was going to say no–

“I think that would be okay.”

. . . Huh?

“You know, the problems we’ve had in the past with your sister have always happened because there was no filter. If we take care of that, then I think we can pull this off without any issues. So, here’s what I propose. Instead of using a video call, we just use a chatroom instead. Only, I’ll be in front of the computer doing all the reading and typing. That way, I can read what she says before you hear it, and I can stop her from saying anything troublesome. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great!” Naegi said.

“I’m glad you approve,” Komaeda said. “Give me twenty minutes. I want to grab something to eat first.”

“Sounds good,” Naegi said. “I had something I needed to get done anyways.”

By the time Komaeda left, Naegi was ecstatic. The first thing he did was fling himself face-first onto his bed – because he could – and then roll around with the blanket. God, he wanted to hug something . . . Well, that’s what pillows were for! He strangled it while smiling so hard his teeth seemed to be clenching against each other.

“I don’t like him.”

The joyful music that had been playing in his head screeched to a stop.

“Komaeda-kun? Oh, you just don’t know him very well. He takes some time to get used to, but he’s –”

“I don’t like him,” Alter Ego said. “He’s not a very good person.”

“You barely know him!” Naegi snapped. “I know he’s rough around the edges . . . they all are. But that’s because of what Enoshima-san did to them. They’re sick, but they’re getting better! You should have seen what Mikan was like when I first met her.” (He shivered at the memory). “She tried to get me to call her mommy.”

“He isn’t rough around the edges. He’s bad!”

“No, he isn’t!” Naegi shouted, and there was something frantic beating in his chest. Black closed in around the edges of his vision as he started to panic. Alter Ego needed to understand. One of _them_ needed to understand . . .

“He tried . . . h-he said . . .” Had Alter Ego been human, Naegi was sure he would be crying. “He tried to tell you that Master dying was a good thing! How can he be good if he said that?”

“No, no, that wasn’t what he was saying!” Somehow, the sight of Alter Ego’s distress calmed him down. He leapt off the bed and sunk to his knees. “He was saying that we shouldn’t try to dwell on the bad stuff, and think about the good side –”

“There isn’t a good side!” Alter Ego said. “Master is gone.”

“Okay, that was a bad way to put it!” Naegi said. He had his hands up, as if trying to calm down a vicious dog. “But consider what they would think! They wouldn’t want us to keep crying over them, right?”

“What they would think?” Alter Ego repeated weakly.

“Sure! Like . . . like Oowada-kun! What do you think he would say?”

Alter Ego stared at him. His head suddenly bowed.

Naegi assumed he was lost in thought. Except Alter Ego didn’t move. And when he peeked at the other’s face, the eyes were dark.

“Alter Ego?”

Did something happen? Had he somehow fried Alter Ego’s brain with his questions?

“Alter Ego!”

He should have known better! Alter Ego was a robot. He probably couldn’t handle his level of hope. Now he wasn’t moving and –

The eyes lit up.

“Don’t do that!” Naegi said. “Do you know how much you scared me-”

Next thing he knew, he was on his back. He blinked. He hadn’t landed hard or anything, but it still winded him because _had Alter Ego pushed him_? He tried to sit up, but Alter stepped forward, standing between his legs, and he paused. A flame seemed to surround the robotic bear, faintly familiar, but mostly just strange and alarming.

“Alter Ego -?”

“The hell do you think you’re doing!” Alter Ego bellowed at him in a perfect imitation of _Oowada’s_ voice.

Naegi choked.

And Oowada was right up in his face. “What? Are you fucking scared!? Good! Maybe that’ll get you to start acting like a man and stand up to all this bullshit! Yeah, it sucks when people die, but you don’t get to decide it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s a burden you gotta keep with you. That’s what a real man does!”

He had messed up. He’d really messed up. Of _course_ Oowada would take this badly. There had been that nasty business with his older brother, after all . . . He was going to be so mad. He was going to tell everyone and then Naegi would be in so much trouble . . .

Hold on a sec. That wasn’t Oowada.

Around the same time Naegi snapped out of it, Alter Ego sensed the effect he was having. Alter Ego seemed to shrink as he shed Oowada’s influence.

“Was my imitation bad?” Alter Ego asked. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see what Oowada-kun would have thought.”

“It was a _really_ good imitation,” Naegi said. That said, he was torn. Part of him never wanted to hear Alter Ego speak like that again, didn’t want to reexperience that fear directed towards his friends. But another part of him had latched onto his classmate’s voice and couldn’t help but extend that to the others; that part of him wanted so dearly to hear his friends again, even if they were going to scream at him and threaten him . . .

“I’m going to talk to Kamukura-kun!” he announced loudly. He needed to get out of there before he did something stupid.

It seemed like years had passed since the time he stayed in Kamukura’s room. Still, when the door opened, the room looked the same as he remembered. Kamukura stood there in the centre of the doorway, waiting.

“I want to ask you something,” Naegi said.

Kamukura inclined his head. Naegi took that as a go ahead.

“What’s the Imposter’s real name?”

That got a reaction out of Kamukura. A tiny, baby reaction, but when it came to Kamukura, it was like he had swooned and fainted.

“I don’t know,” Kamukura said.

Naegi’s smile froze. Of all answers, that had not been one he had expected.

“You’re kidding.”

“Why would I lie?” Kamukura asked.

His mouth hung open in shock. “H-how? Why? This is ridiculous! I can’t believe it.”

“Why is this such a shock to you?” Kamukura asked.

“You’re always complaining about being bored, and you’re telling me that you’ve been living next to this mystery for ages and never given it any thought. Or was it too hard for you to figure out?”

That . . . might not have been the best thing to say. Kamukura had stiffened.

“Uh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Naegi said quickly. “Maybe the Imposter really is that good. I’m just really surprised you hadn’t figured it out.”

“I’ve never tried to,” Kamukura said.

“Yeah, that what surprises me.”

“I didn’t try because I didn’t think he would want me to know.”

Oh. Now Naegi was feeling like the one in the wrong. He said, “Honestly, I didn’t think about it that way. I’m sorry.”

“Why do you want to know his name?” Kamukura asked.

“I . . . Uh . . .”

Somehow, he didn’t think saying ‘for hope’ or ‘I’m having a war with the Imposter’ would work very well. Not unless Kamukura would find that interesting.

“. . . It’s not important,” he said. “Sorry I bothered you.”

Well, that conversation could have gone worse. Kamukura could have taken offense to Naegi’s attack, for starters. Still, he slithered away with his tail tucked between his legs. No point in taking a chance with Kamukura’s patience.

Komaeda caught him just as he tried to slip back into his room. Naegi, still not having grasped the concept of Not Grounded Anymore, immediately turned his eyes downward in guilt. Komaeda merely ruffled his hair.

“Do I get to talk with Komaru now?” Naegi asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Komaeda said. “But try not to act too excited, or else I’ll think you like her better than me.”

Was that a joke? Komaru was his blood relative – wasn’t it a given that he should like her better? Only . . . Ultimate Despair had never really acknowledged that. Even Komaeda only seemed to admit it so that he could use the relationship as a weapon. Best to play it safe, then. Best to appease.

“Of course, I don’t like her better,” he said. “You’re my best friend. I barely even see her.”

“Lying doesn’t look very good on you.”

Naegi froze.

“I thought we were past this,” Komaeda said. “You shouldn’t lie to me. All it does is buy you a little time.”

The air felt muggy. Was that a warning? Did . . . did Komaeda _know_?

“I-I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are.” Komaeda’s eyes seemed to narrow, as if Naegi was the only thing he could see. “You’re not hiding anything from me, are you?”

“N-no.”

Arms crossed, one finger tip-tapping on his elbow, Komaeda asked, “Are you sure?”

He knew. That was the only explanation. He knew _something_ , at least. The world went tipsy-turvey and Naegi felt as though he was falling, the ground slipping from underneath his feet. . .

“I’m having a war with the Imposter!”

Komaeda’s face scrunched up with confusion. “What?”

“We’re having a war,” Naegi said. “I mean, we’re going to have a war. He doesn’t know yet. Yesterday he dressed up and . . . he pretended to be somebody I know. I’m sure he was trying to make me despair.”

“Ah, I see,” Komaeda said. “Just try to be careful, alright? You don’t want to make Kuzuryu-kun any angrier than he is.”

“Okay.”

Komaeda began leading the way again. Was that it? Komaeda had bought it? Maybe Komaeda hadn’t known anything after all. Or if he did, it was only that Naegi was hiding something, but not what.

Komaeda brought him to the same room as last time. It surprised him, but he supposed there weren’t very many places Komaeda could ensure they had privacy. This time, they switched places; Komaeda sat at the desk with the laptop, and Naegi at the chair on the other side of the room.

“Okay, Naegi-kun, here’s what we’re going to do. Your sister will think she’s speaking directly to you, but really, I’ll be the middleman. It’s just going to be through chat – no video this time. I’ll tell you what she’s typed, and then you tell me what to type back. Any questions?”

“No. It makes sense to me.”

“Fabulous. I’ll get set up.”

Komaeda started typing away. That left Naegi by his lonesome, to look around at the bare room and kick his feet. What did he want to tell his sister? He couldn’t tell her any of his _real_ news, not with Komaeda so close. She might not understand it anyways. She hadn’t seen the Killing Game, so he doubted she would know who Alter Ego was. He couldn’t even be sure she knew who Kirigiri was. She had probably met his friends during the years he couldn’t remember (Had they been friends-? No. Dumb question. Of course, they had been. They _had_ to have been friends), but who knew just how many times they had met in person? His sister had a pretty good memory, but it wasn’t foolproof.

Thinking back though. . . he should start off with an apology. He had cut the conversation short last time . . . or maybe it was better not to talk about that. Not necessarily for her sake, but because it would be better not to remind Komaeda of what had happened. It was a miracle Komaeda was permitting this, after all.

Komaeda’s cellphone rang. It must have been his associates in Towa City, letting him know everything was on track. Naegi watched anxiously as Komaeda lifted the phone to his ear. Ah, Komaru. What should he say to her? Maybe he should just let her dictate the conversation, and figure it out from there . . .

“ _What_?” Komaeda barked.

That was a hiss. Enough for Naegi to stop breathing. Only . . . Komaeda wasn’t talking to him. Komaeda wasn’t staring at him. Komaeda was staring off into the distance, as if the person he was talking to weren’t physically present –

“ _What do you mean she’s gone_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Where art thou, Komaru?


	72. The Other Side

The air sirens could barely be heard over the screams.

Bright red lights lit up the store. Though their origins were eyes of the Monokuma robot, they almost seemed like searchlights as they scanned their surroundings. Under a table, a man shivered. By the light shining in through the window, he could see the smear – a dark blotch on otherwise reflective steel – spread over the robot’s face. There nowhere to go; the robot stood directly between him and the exit.

The Monokuma raised its head. Then, with a sound like snapping bone, it swiveled around until it faced the man directly. Red eyes glowed even brighter, casting a ghastly shadow over its grisly face.

 _Screk!_ The table shrieked in agony as the Monokuma grabbed it, and pulled. Two of the four legs came unbolted from the floor, screws popping into the air. The two legs came back down with a crack, narrowly missing the man’s finger, shaking the ground. The man crawled backwards, groping for something, _anything_.

Shaking fingers found a chair. With speed he should not have, he scrambled to his feet. Hips and shoulders locked into place as he found his footing, and the weight of the chair shook his arms. The Monokuma did not falter. It advanced towards him, mindless in its pursuit. With a cry, the man brought the chair above his head and swung –

Sparks spat into their faces as long, metal claws tore the chair in half. The detached half fell onto the Monokuma’s head and crumbled even further. The other half hit naught but air. The man reeled back as the sparks jumped into his face, but a robot had no such qualms. Even as sparks hit it straight in the eyes, the Monokuma reached forward and grabbed the man by his lapels. There was no escaping that iron grip. No way to prevent the gasping and choking as the robot lifted him off his feet –

_NOT TARGET._

With as much ease as flicking dirt off its shoulder, the Monokuma threw the man aside. He hit the wall with a sickening sound and when he didn’t move, the Monokuma turned away.

The Monokuma smashed through the front window, and ambled down the city streets. Its eyes caught everything, its brain scanned every image, searching, hunting. It ignored the screams caused by it and its brethren, and waded through rubble until at last, it spotted a figure through an alleyway. The person had their back to the robot, and remained oblivious as the Monokuma lumbered towards her.

The head turned. A girl’s face came into profile.

Target identified.

_SECURE. APPREHEND._

The Monokuma charged.

The girl finally saw it. She scrambled backwards, nearly tripping in her haste. The Monokuma’s long claws slid back into their hiding places, but were replaced with reaching arms and grabby hands . . .

Then, another girl was there beside the first. She lifted something to her lips, and everything changed as she spoke _A Word_ –

The Monokuma fell to the ground, smoke billowing from its body, eyes dim. It moved no more. The girl with the megaphone turned to face the other.

“You okay?” Asahina demanded.

“Y-yes,” Naegi Komaru answered.

“Try not to get ahead of us, okay? This place is crawling with those things.”

“S-sorry,” Komaru said.

Asahina took in the small, trembling girl before her, and her face softened. “Hey, you’ll be fine. They can’t hurt you. We’ll get you out of here in no time.”

“They can’t hurt me?” Komaru repeated, voice high. “That one tried to –”

“Well, I didn’t say they wouldn’t try to grab you, but they won’t _hurt_ you. Naegi-kun hacked them!” Asahina said happily, as if unable to recognize the magnitude of her statement. “They all have orders not to hurt me and my friends and if he did that, there’s no way he forgot about you.”

“Makoto . . .” Komaru swallowed. Something hard shone in her eyes. “Uh, that megaphone. . . D-do you think I could have one?”

“These? Sure! Togami’s got extra.”

The megaphone wasn’t that big, but Komaru thought it felt strangely heavy. Or maybe that was just the weight of the situation making itself at home. Asahina started to explain how to use it, but instantly jerked straight (even her ponytail flew up!) at the sound of a certain voice.

Asahina turned sharply. “Yuta! I told you to stay with the others.”

“They’re only like half a block behind. I’m okay.”

“That’s not the point!” Asahina snapped. “Just because I can walk in front of the Monokumas without being slashed up doesn’t mean you can. Those things are dangerous! They kill people!”

Asahina’s brother flinched. The change in his older sister’s manner was immediate and Komaru held back a mental sigh. Komaru knew that look, had seen it many times before on her own brother. It was the rush of protectiveness that overtook an older sibling when they realized the younger one was scared.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. Just . . . you don’t know a whole lot about what’s happened, so I need you to listen to me. Things were probably pretty bad when you were kidnapped, but they’re even worse now. So listen to me and my friends, okay? I don’t want to see anyone else I care about get hurt.”

“Sorry,” Yuta whispered.

Asahina smiled gently at him. She went in for a hug –

“Could you two wait until we’re not being chased down?” Togami demanded, heading the rest of the former prisoners, who had caught up a few seconds ago.

“Suck it!” Asahina stuck her tongue out, and defiantly bear-hugged her brother.

Komaru turned her head away, jealous. She should be happy for the Asahina siblings, but she hated having it rubbed in her face over and over that Makoto wasn’t here. Not only that, but every time she thought of older siblings, she couldn’t help but remember her last conversation with that wild-eyed person with the crazy smile who called himself her brother. Something that had been nothing at all like the Asahinas’ teary reunion.

Their rescue had been sudden. There had been arguing outside her apartment door, and then the door _next_ to hers had been busted down. The arguing had grown even louder, and then Asahina had bashed hers down, even as Togami scolded her for it. Fukawa and some old guy had been there too, at least Komaru thought that had been her. She didn’t remember Fukawa having such a long tongue. They’d told her they were there on Makoto’s behalf and that had been. . . surprising. If her brother had asked them to help her, then Asahina was expected, but she was surprised Oogami hadn’t tagged along to protect her, or Ikusaba or Kirigiri weren’t involved. Afterwards, her brother’s classmates had busted down the other doors in that hall, and it slowly dawned on her that each one held another prisoner who, too, was related to somebody in her brother’s class.

“Stay behind me and keep up,” Togami demanded as he surged ahead.

When they encountered a crowd running the other way. Togami’s jaw set. It wasn’t long before the Monokumas that had caused the panic closed in on them. Togami stood his ground, and Asahina seemed much too excited to push ahead to join him. Fukawa was there too, moving much quicker than her thin frame would suggest she could, not wielding a megaphone but. . . scissors?

Komaru looked at the megaphone in her hands, and then at the three protecting them. She felt like a fraud. . .

Someone’s hand landed on her shoulder. “There’s no need for that. They seem to know what they’re doing. There’s no need for us to get in their way.”

She looked up at the older gentleman who had spoken and nodded, grateful. Still, she felt bad holding a megaphone and not doing anything while the others shouted apart robotic bears (literally!), so she retreated to the back of the group. It brought her next to a starry-eyed Yuta, who watched his sister with his mouth hanging open.

_“Do you care about Makoto?”_

Her grip tightened on the megaphone.

“Move forward!” Togami barked as Fukawa tore the last robot apart. . . with scissors. The group obeyed, waved ahead by Asahina who covered them from the side. They surged through the next street like a swelling river, Togami firmly at his place in the front.

_“He is a prisoner of the terrorist group, Ultimate Despair. They will release him only when they are dead.”_

“Over there!” Asahina shouted. She pointed towards the horizon, where a gentle ocean awaited them.

“We have a ship,” Togami said to the group. “We were only expecting to save one person, so it will be a tight fit. It should hold, however.”

_“But there is one thing . . . one thing you can use to sway their minds . . .”_

Komaru stopped. Ahead of her, the hostages followed Togami. She looked down at the megaphone again.

_“Tell me. . . what are you willing to do to save him?”_

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

“I can do this,” she whispered.

She could.

She **must**.

She turned.

The sirens drowned out her footsteps. She ran back the same way she came, turning randomly. Where to start looking? Where to begin? Kamukura had left her with few clues. Only the knowledge of what she needed, but not where to find them. In the distance, the steady clomps of marching Monokumas reached her ears.

And she came face-to-face with one.

The Monokuma towered above her, arms reached out towards her like a zombie. She took a step back. Another. The robot kept coming. Its red eye gleamed like a window into hell. Komaru raised the megaphone, and pointed it with shaking hands.

“B-br . . . B-brea –”

The Monokuma lurched forward.

She screamed. The ground rushed up to meet her back, and slapped her over the head. She groaned. The Monokuma stood above her, cloaked in shadow.

It reached out for her.

Kicking its chest was instinctive and – _ow!_ She was still grimacing at the pain when bitter-cold steel locked around her ankle and _that really hurt!_

The Monokuma yanked her forward by the ankle, tossing her legs between the opening between its own. It was right above her, blotting out the sunlight. All she saw was a great shadow as its paw reached for her. . .

“No!”

There was no holding it back. The one arm she raised in defense was grabbed hard enough to hurt. Its other paw was reaching forward, going straight for her throat . . .

She pressed the megaphone to her lips, and _screamed_.

 “ _BREAK!_ ”

The scream tore the robot’s head asunder. It fell gracelessly to the ground, paw just an inch away from her shoe. She looked down at the smoking head, then at the megaphone with a detached astonishment.

Asahina’s voice rose in the distance. “ _Komaru? Komaru, where are you_?”

Komaru looked back in the voice’s direction. Through the buildings, she glimpsed the gentle sea, and its promise of safety.

Her resolve steeled.

She pushed forward, ignoring the voices calling her name. She didn’t know where to look, but at least this was an island. They had to be _somewhere_.

_Makoto . . . Just hang on._

There was another Monokuma in the store across the sheet. Through the glass, it saw her, and then the glass was no more as the Monokuma threw itself through the pane. The Monokuma landed hard, eyes fixed on her as it rose from a crouch to its full height.

_I’m coming for you!_

She faced the Monokumas and squared her shoulders.

“ _BREAK!_ ”

* * *

“Alright, alright. Which one of you munchkins ratted us out? What’s the matter? You stare at that picture of your big brother’s sister too long, and decided to set her loose and go for one of those prisoner-saviour romances? Well, guess what? This is reality kiddos, not a video game! You got what you deserved–”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Shingetsu said.

“Shutting me up ain’t gonna make it go away, Naggy-sa!” the black-painted Monokuma crooned.

Before things could escalate further, Towa said, “It’s time for Silent Mode.”

Arms crossed behind his head, Kurokuma did as she ordered. He still managed, however, to covey his smugness and irritation quite clearly to everyone around.

“What do we do?” Utsugi cried. “They’re close to the water.”

“I’ll get them!” Daimon said. “I’m the leader so I’ll get them back.”

“No, there’s still adults everywhere,” Shingetsu said.

“I’ll kill them,” Daimon insisted. “I’ll kill all the adults!”

Daimon was already marching towards the door, and was only stopped by Shingetsu springing forward and grabbing his arm.

“It’s too dangerous!” Shingetsu said. “There’s too many of them. Listen, Monaca’s used her magic to get the Monokumas to start killing adults, too. Wait for them to finish, and then we can start the Demon Hunting.”

“What kind of leader hides behind a bunch of robots?” Daimon complained. “Only a cowardly leader does that.”

“You started killing adults?” Kemuri echoed, worried.

Shingetsu, still driving in his heels to try and stop Daimon from leaving, answered Kemuri solemnly. “We had to. If they get away, then there’s nothing keeping the adults from the Future Foundation away. And once we activated the Monokumas to find our hostages, nobody would ever trust them again. We had to do it. We already crossed that line.”

“But we’re not ready!” Utsugi said. “You said we needed another year.”

“I know!” Shingetsu was blinking rapidly to stave away tears. “We’ll have to improvise.”

“Chest . . . itches,” Kemuri mumbled. “Do you think they’ll finally kill us? They’ll finally show how much they hate me . . .”

“Lemme go! I’ll get rid of the Demons!” Daimon said, trying to pull free.

Shingetsu looked from him to Utsugi to Kemuri in panic. The air was thick with emotion, ranging from Daimon’s suicidal overconfidence to Utsugi’s terror to Kemuri’s sweltering acceptance. Things were crumbling down all around them with no clear way to reassemble the blocks. The simple truth was that Kemuri was right. It was too early. They had too few Monokumas, too few of Towa’s magic helmets to make the other kids help them. Now, they were losing their hostages and he couldn’t see a way to stop any of this –

 _Sniff_.

It was the slap in the face they all needed. They all turned to the one they had forgotten in their arguing: Towa. She made for a pathetic sight: scrunched up in her wheelchair as if trying to sink into it. Tears fell as she cried into her hands.

“Paradise . . . we’re not going to make Paradise,” she sobbed. “Our dream’s ruined.”

It was another admission of failure. Yet, it had the exact opposite effects on the others. Daimon had stopped trying to get away, but even if he hadn’t, Shingetsu would have lost his grip on the other boy anyways. Shingetsu scrambled over to Towa, wanting to hug and comfort her, but too nervous and self-conscious to get closer.

“No, it’s not ruined!” he told her. “I’ll do it. I’ll find a way. Paradise . . . we got to do it. For kids everywhere!”

“We’ll make Paradise,” Kemuri agreed. “If our princess wants it, then we have to.”

“So, please don’t cry!” Utsugi said. She grabbed one of Towa’s hands. “It makes me want to cry, too.”

Daimon said, “I’m going to start making Paradise right now!”

“Masaru, wait!”

It was too late. Shingetsu was too far away to stop the hot-headed boy from charging out into battle. He exchanged looks with the other children, then readied himself to take command in their leader’s absence.

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ll do it. We’ll make Paradise.”

Towa sniffed, and peered over her hand at him. “Will we really?”

Upon seeing those kind eyes watching with him such trust, Shingetsu smiled. “Yes.”

“Do you promise?” Towa asked.

“I do!”

“I . . . I’ll believe in you then. I know you’d never break a promise to me!”

It struck once. It struck hard. He’d promised. Monaca was expecting him to fulfill that promise. That meant he _had_ to do it. He could feel that resolve seep into his blood. It _would_ be done.

“Let’s go,” Shingetsu said. “We have to make Paradise.”

Confidence radiated from the boy, comforting in its strength. The other felt their own resolve swell as that confidence seeped into their hearts. Kurokuma gave them a lazy salute, and that was the last push they needed. The three scampered off, eager to fulfill their duties, eager to bring about the utopia they had dreamt about for so long.

“. . . What a bunch of pansies,” Towa said once they were gone, the tears completely gone. “Silent Mode, off.”

“Finally! Do you know have much it strained my poor circuits when I had to stand there and not laugh? Those pipsqueaks think they’re ready to be adults now. Hah!”

“You told Monaca this wouldn’t happen for at least another couple of months,” Towa said accusingly.

“Hey, now! I’m just the advisor. Ain’t my job to run this damn show.” Kurokuma’s head tilted a little to the side. “But my Lil’ Bro did tell me that. He said he got that info from a very reliable source . . . Oh well! So, whaddaya gonna do?”

“I still think it would be funny to make Naegi Komaru the new Despair.” Towa giggled adorably. “Big Brother Makoto will be so happy!”

“Huh? I’m going to guess you don’t know then . . .”

“Know what?”

“Nothing important!” Kurokuma declared. “Only that the latest intel says that Komaru has split from the other hostages! She’s a lone wolf.”

“. . . Alright. Let the boat people go. They can leave with her only way out.” Towa rolled over to a computer, where security footage from the traffic cameras reflected the chaotic nature of the island. “As long as _she_ doesn’t escape, everything is fine.”

* * *

“How could we have lost her?!” Togami demanded, red in the face as he stood behind the ship’s wheel, having been seconds away from embarking for relatively safer shores. “She was the reason we came here in the first place!”

“. . . You didn’t come to rescue me?” Yuta said to his sister.

“It’s not like that!” Asahina said frantically. “We had no idea that anyone other than Naegi’s sister was here. If we had just known about you, we totally would have launched a rescue mission for you, too!”

“That is correct.” Togami pushed his glasses up his nose, making the lens gleam bright white for an instance. “That we found you at all is mere chance. If Asahina had been more patient and hadn’t kicked down the wrong door, we most likely would have left without discovering the rest of you.”

“Hah! And you said my impulsiveness was going to ruin everything.”

“D-don’t speak like that to Master,” Fukawa said. “Th-that you d-didn’t ruin everything was a miracle.”

Yuta, knowing his sister well, backed off as he predicted the explosion. But in the space he left behind, another stepped forward to calm the tension.

“Let bygones be bygones,” Fujisaki Taichi said. “This isn’t the time.”

“He’s right,” Togami said. “Fukawa, stand down.”

Fukawa pulled at her pigtails and muttered under her breath, but she was mostly quiet.

The island, however, wasn’t. There was a loud crash, and then they all looked back at the shore to see Monokumas within eyesight.

“. . . You guys go,” Asahina said. “I’ll find Naegi’s sister and keep her safe. Then you can come back and pick us up!”

Togami was silent, mulling over this. Asahina kept her eyes fixed on him, waiting for his answer, oblivious to the wide eyes of her younger sibling.

“Selfish i-idiot.”

“What was that?” Asahina demanded, spinning around to face Fukawa.

“I said y-you’re being a selfish i-idiot,” Fukawa said. “Your brother hasn’t seen you in months, and n-now you just go run off and p-put yourself into danger.”

“I . . . Yuta!” She turned to her younger brother. “You understand, don’t you?”

Yuta hesitated. But before he could answer, before he had to make that dreadful choice, Togami stepped forward and pushed the keys into Asahina’s chest.

“You like water. I’ll assume you’re familiar with boats. Get them out of here,” he said. “When you return, I will be waiting for you with Naegi’s sister. You have my word as a Togami.”

“I’ll come, too, M-master!”

Togami, halfway down the gangplank leading to land, scoffed. “You? _You_ wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

A short silence.

Fukawa reached into her pocket, pulled out a device, and pressed it against her head.

The next second, the air was filled with maniacal laughter.

“That’s better,” Togami said.

“Oh? What’s this? Master’s looking for _me_?” Genocider Shou snickered with delight, arms wrapped around herself as she swayed from side to side (Asahina covered her brother’s eyes). “Is it getting steamy in here or –”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Togami said. “We’re looking for Naegi Komaru. Now, come.”

Genocider Shou happily trotted after her Master, as he readied his megaphone and approached the oncoming Monokumas. Asahina was still as the Serial Killer’s laughter grew fainter.

“It’ll be fine,” she told herself. “It’s going to be fine.”

Her brother grabbed her arm. “Of course it will be!”

She smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to be covering Komaru/Togami/Fukawa's adventures in Towa City. Exactly what Komaru's up to will be explain later but for now, think of it like Komaru going through the place with cheats activated. You know, since a certain _somebody_ isn't there to nerf her megaphone. Let me know if any of the AE characters are OOC. I'll try to fix it if I can.
> 
> Also, this is confirmation that all the hostages have been saved.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Kuzuryu and Sonia talk to Naegi's "parents" about his delinquent behaviour!


	73. The Best News Ever!

“Komaeda-kun?”

Komaeda looked at him as if he were a ghost. Given that his hair was already so pale, it was hard to tell when Komaeda’s face paled, but Naegi caught it. Komaeda’s smile was too slow to come, and did nothing to disguise what Naegi had already seen.

“I’m sorry,” Komaeda said. “It looks like your sister isn’t available right now. We’ll have to try again some other day.”

Komaeda casually started cleaning up, but Naegi remembered what he had heard. He leaned forward in his chair, and pointedly asked, “Who’s _she_? Who’s gone?”

“Nobody important,” Komaeda said. “Just one of the people I usually talk to.”

“. . . Is it my sister?”

“Hmm? No, she’s fine. It’s just –”

“You’re lying, aren’t you?” Naegi said.

There was the slightest, just the _tiniest_ twitch, and Naegi knew he had won. It _had_ to be Komaru – who else would cause a cancellation like this? And if what Komaeda said had been accurate, that his sister was _gone_ , then that could only mean one thing: it had worked. The Future Foundation had heard him, and it had worked. Komaru had been saved, and Ultimate Despair had lost one of their greatest pawns.

He . . . he was free, too. In a way. But he could do whatever he wanted and they couldn’t hurt her now and he was _free_.

“They did it. She’s safe.”

“Naegi-kun?” Komaeda was taking slow, careful steps around the desk towards him. In another time, Naegi would have heeded the warning. Not this time though, because for once something had gone his way and Komaeda hadn’t known, hadn’t even _suspected_ . . .

Komaeda . . . had been tricked?

The sudden hand on his shoulder made him jump.

“I think,” Komaeda said carefully, “it would be best if you went back to your room.”

Okay. He didn’t mind. He didn’t mind anything! He’d go back to his room and play with Alter Ego and call Kirigiri and think about being outside . . . he didn’t mind at all.

Komaeda kept eyes trained on his back the entire trip back. It was easy to shake off. Naegi bounced through the halls; had anyone one interrupted them, he would have leapt at them like an overexcited puppy. He _may_ have been able to restrain himself from slobbering all over them, too.

“Komaeda-kun, who were you talking to?” he asked. “Was it your friend?”

“My friend?” Komaeda repeated.

“Yeah, the one who gives you all those tapes that have Kirigiri-san on them!”

Komaeda said, “No, that’s a completely different person. They’re not even in the same city.”

Naegi puffed his cheeks out. Not out of annoyance at being wrong (as Komaeda hopefully thought), but because his little probe for information had failed. Ah, it was probably for the best. Considering that stroke of good luck with Komaru, he was due for some bad luck soon.

“Was your friend ever in Towa City? Did they meet my sister?”

“Why are you asking?”

 “I . . . just curious,” he mumbled. “What about my parents? Do they ever get mentioned?”

“I’ve never heard anything about your father,” Komaeda said.

Naegi thought about it long and hard. Then, he went in for an attack.

“What about my mother? Did your friend help find her and get her here?”

“Your mother . . .? Ah, I’m not entirely sure how that happened,” Komaeda said. In a way, it was cruelly amusing to watch him struggle to explain an answer Naegi already knew. “You should ask Queen Nevermind about that.”

Shortly after, they reached his room. Komaeda pulled the trapdoor open and waved him forward. “Alright, get in.”

But before he did, Naegi, being in such a great, bubbly mood. . .

“Oh,” Komaeda said.

Naegi frowned. He’d expected a more of a reaction to the surprise hug.

Komaeda sighed. He put his arms around Naegi, and patted him on the back.

“You’re so hopeful over this,” Komaeda said. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Get videos of my sister from your friend?” he said hopefully into Komaeda’s hoodie.

“Yes, she could do that . . . If your sister was with the Future Foundation.”

Naegi grinned. It was funny listening to Komaeda trying to play pretend.

The trapdoor closed behind him. Naegi happily marched down the stairs, and then stopped in the middle of the room as he tried to figure out what he was doing here in the first place. Why had he come back again? Oh well! It gave him time to celebrate.

“Kuma!”

He jumped onto his bear’s back. It appeared Tanaka had dropped by while he was with Komaeda, because Kuma was cracking open what he guessed was a bovine bone. Consequently, Kuma barely paid attention to the added weight on his back, other than shaking as if throwing off flies. Naegi tumbled off and landed on his stomach.

“Kuma, they did it! My friends rescued my sister,” he said with glee, ignoring the rumble as his hand came too close to the bear’s meal. “Komaeda-kun wanted to hide it, but I overheard him and he even said I can get videos and stuff to check up on Komaru afterwards because his friend . . .”

He stopped cold as he remembered _exactly_ what Komaeda had said.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“. . . And I know his friend’s gender,” he half-whispered. “Kuma, I know the gender!”

In his excitement, he really did get too close to the bone. Kuma didn’t bite, but he did swing his head hard enough to push Naegi onto his back. Kuma pointedly pushed the bone further away with his paw afterwards, too.

“I need to tell Kirigiri-san,” Naegi said, lying on his back.

He sat up like a reanimated corpse in a horror movie. He _could_ have walked over to the closest, but it seemed so much faster to crawl over there. The door flew open and he yanked the shoe out of its hiding place –

No phone.

Had it fallen out? There wasn’t much on the closet floor, but he tossed out what little things there were. Nothing. No phone. Not even a scrap of metal. Maybe it was in a pocket somewhere? He didn’t remember wearing Komaeda’s hoodie when he called Kirigiri, but perhaps he had. Only it wasn’t there either. The phone had vanished, and he had no idea where it was . . .

Alter Ego was gone, too.

That wasn’t unusual. However, coupled with the missing phone, it was cause for alarm. Is that why Komaeda had taken him to talk to his sister? Maybe Komaeda had really been probing for information, and never meant for Naegi to actually speak to Komaru. What had he said? _What had he told Komaeda_. . .?

But Naegi had initiated that chain of events, hadn’t he? Komaeda hadn’t suggested it. He still could have taken advantage of an opportunity, but Naegi couldn’t remember Komaeda asking anything about Kirigiri or the Monokuma in his room. So, maybe it wasn’t Komaeda himself probing for information? But then whom? Kuzuryu had been on his case lately, but Naegi couldn’t imagine him keeping this a secret. Unless he was planning something terrible! Unless it wasn’t Kuzuryu either? What if it were someone who didn’t know what they were looking at? Someone who might simply be curious –

“Soda-kun!”

There was no way Soda could hear him, so Naegi ran all the way to the workshop. He didn’t open the door and walk in so much as he fell in.

“Soda-kun!”

“Eh? What’s up, Naegi?”

Naegi stopped. Soda . . . was working on a plane. There were Monokumas around, of course, but whatever he was doing didn’t involve them.

“Uh, did you take apart any Monokumas?”

“Uh, no. Why?”

“Umm . . . I thought it was Friday?” he lied.

Soda laughed. “Oh, I get it. Don’t worry. I promise I’ll never start without you!”

Then it wasn’t Soda. But who, then, was it? Could the Imposter have returned for Round Two, and searched his room when he discovered Naegi wasn’t there? It didn’t seem like him, but a week ago, Naegi wouldn’t have expected the Imposter to be dressing up like his mother either.

Where was Alter Ego and the phone?

He whined as it slowly dawned on him that this wasn’t a puzzle he could solve alone. But there was no one to go to. He couldn’t walk up to Komaeda and say, “Hey, I lost a phone I had been secretly hiding in my room.”

. . . But Iwata wasn’t Despair. Maybe he could give Naegi some advice.

He burst into the prison, taking only a second to check for Despairs before shouting Iwata’s name –

Alter Ego and Iwata stared back at him.

“You’re alive,” he said weakly.

“Who exactly are you talking to?” Iwata asked.

“Alter Ego.” He took wobbly steps forward. “I thought they found you.”

“You did? I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

“The phone’s gone,” he blurted out. “That’s why I was scared. The phone’s gone and then you were gone too, and –”

In the corner of his vision, Iwata shifted. Naegi’s eyes snapped to him, and he was it.

 _Iwata_ was holding the phone, and it was on.

“What are you doing?” he asked automatically.

“You told me there was a prisoner who was a friend of yours, so I wanted to meet him,” Alter Ego said.

“Okay, but why did you give him the phone?” Naegi asked.

“Umm . . .”

“Hold on. . . who are you talking to?” Naegi asked. “Is it your niece? Are you telling her you’re alive?”

Iwata sighed. “No, Naegi-kun. I’m talking to your friend.”

He stiffened. Then, he relaxed. It was only Iwata. It wasn’t like Komaeda was peering over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m glad,” Naegi said, to what appeared to be the other’s surprise. “It’s always nice when my friends meet each other. What are you talking about?”

“She was asking my opinion on a few things,” Iwata said carefully. “She wants to make sure she understands the whole picture.”

“Am I not explaining well enough for her?” Naegi asked.

“It’s not that. It’s always good to have a second opinion, that’s all.”

Naegi beamed. “That’s true. Are you finished talking to her? There’s something I need to tell her.”

Iwata handed the phone over. Naegi scooped it up, careful not to take it too roughly from the frail man.

“Kirigiri-san! Hi! It’s me, Naegi.”

“Yes, Naegi-kun, I could hear you talking to the others.”

“What were you talking about?”

“Nothing important. You had something you wanted to tell me?”

Naegi straightened up with expectation and pride. “It’s a girl! Komaeda-kun’s friend is a girl!”

“His friend on the inside, correct? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m . . . Uh, I mean . . . I thought . . .”

“Never mind. I’m sure you aren’t mistaken. It’s just unfortunate, that’s all.”

“You wanted it to be a guy?” Naegi asked.

“It would have been preferable. For the mole to be female . . . it complicates things a little.”

Mole? His mind played with that a little, then dropped it. “So, Kirigiri-san, what was the most exciting thing _you_ did today?”

He hunkered down, prepared for another long conversation. (Wouldn’t an armchair and hot chocolate be nice right now?) Only, Iwata reached through the bars and grabbed his shoulder.

“Is this really a safe place to have this conversation?” he asked.

Naegi shook his head a little. “Ah. I guess not. Anyone could walk in and see me.”

He supposed he would have to wait until night then. But at least they would still have things to talk about then! He left the two – and the phone – behind, Alter Ego and Iwata having convinced him that Ultimate Despair would be less likely to find a phone on a random Monokuma rather than him. He wandered around, not really paying attention to where he was going, thinking vaguely of things to talk about with Kirigiri later.

He blinked. He was in front of a door.

He smiled. He knew exactly where he was.

Three knocks later, and the Imposter was staring down at him.

“Naegi, did you need something?” the Imposter asked.

Naegi smiled, hoping none of his true thoughts showed. “I just wanted to hang out.”

* * *

“It’s a big difference, isn’t it?”

“Yes . . . it is.”

“When did you first realize that?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Tsumiki said, biting her lower lip. “Umm, he was always very nice. He used my given name, but I asked him to. I think . . . it was when he told me that he didn’t mind that I existed. He said that if anyone, even if _she_ said that, then they were the ones supposed to be saying sorry. He said that _she_ was wrong, and that she should be asking for me to forgive her . . .”

“You seem quite focused on how they contradict each other.”

Tsumiki’s breath hitched. Although her back was to the other, it was evident by her general fidgeting that her hands were wringing together. “They’re not the same.”

“And what do you think of that?”

“I . . .” Tsumiki’s eyes darted around the room, searching for any hidden figures. “I think I . . . I think I like it.”

Immediately, she winced. Her eyes slammed shut, her back arched and she drew into herself, as if expecting a whip to break over her back. But no pain came. She herself seemed surprised. She touched her cheek, as if uncertain whether she was awake.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” she said, a little more certain. “I do.”

Kamukura opened his mouth, but said nothing when the doors to the infirmary suddenly opened. Kamukura stepped back into the shadows, keen eyes watching as Kuzuryu walked in, flanked by Pekoyama and Komaeda. Nevermind hung back, a phone to her ear.

“Hey, Tsumiki, we need to ask you something!”

“H-huh? What is it?”

“You hear about what’s been going on with that hostage we had in Towa City?” Kuzuryu demanded.

“Do you mean Naegi K-Komaru?” Tsumiki asked.

“Yeah, her. Naegi hasn’t been by to tell you about it?”

“No,” she said. “I haven’t seen him today. What happened?”

“She’s escaped,” Kuzuryu said bluntly. “All the hostages have gone missing and they have no fucking idea how. I know it doesn’t even matter anymore since the Killing Game’s over, but it’s about the image, you know.”

“Everyone, please listen to me,” Nevermind said, slowly lowering the phone from her year. “I just spoke to Yukizome-san. She told me the Future Foundation was tipped off about that location months ago.”

“Yeah? By whom?” Kuzuryu asked.

Nevermind looked her partner right in the eye, dropping her tone to express the absolute severity of what she said next. “They received an email from Makoto.”

Silence.

“What?” Komaeda said.

“How the hell . . .?” Kuzuryu muttered.

“B-but Makoto doesn’t have a computer,” Tsumiki said.

“She was very certain about what she said,” Nevermind said. “Either, Makoto did get access to a computer, or someone contacted them under his name.”

“It’s gotta be the first one,” Kuzuryu said. “No one else has a motive to tattle.”

“I don’t understand,” Komaeda muttered. “How?”

“If you don’t fucking know, how the hell would we?” Kuzuryu’s words were harsh, but anyone that heard them would have picked up on the near-desperation underneath. “This happened months ago, right? Are you two saying he never said anything about this?”

“N-no, he never mentioned anything like this,” Tsumiki said.

“This is the first time I’ve heard of it,” Komaeda said.

Kuzuryu raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Komaeda frowned. “Yes.”

“I think the question we should be asking is what do we do with him now,” Nevermind said.

“Well, our priority should be figuring out how the hell this happened!” Kuzuryu said. He paced furiously, bumping into a cart by accident – which he then kicked for good measure. “If Naegi’s been sneaking onto a computer this whole time, I want to fucking know. Fuck! No wonder he’s been such a pain. If he’s been communicating with the Future Foundation, who knows what kind of shit they’re feeding him?”

Nevermind spoke. “The Imposter said his initial meeting with Makoto went very smoothly. I will ask him to investigate further.”

Kuzuryu nodded. Then, with what seemed like agonized strain, he turned towards Komaeda.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Kuzuryu said.

“Regret what?” Komaeda asked.

“I’m giving you free range,” Kuzuryu said. “Whatever fucking crazy ideas come into your head . . . go ahead. Do it. I’m not going to stop you.”

“Kuzuryu-kun?” Tsumiki squeaked.

Kuzuryu ignored her in favour of glaring at Komaeda. “Break him. Figure out what the hell he’s hiding from us. We need to figure this shit out, and if you and the fucking Imposter can’t do it, then . . . Fuck! We’re going to have to break out yakuza tactics or something.”

“Th-this is . . . Isn’t this a little extreme?” Tsumiki asked. “We could talk to him, and ask him not to do it again. Maybe he doesn’t know how serious this is. . .”

“Yes, he does,” Komaeda said quietly. “Naegi-kun knew exactly what he was doing. Kuzuryu-kun, there’s no need to take it to that level. I can handle this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> You know what? We haven't had a chapter with Komaeda fucking with Naegi's head for a while.


	74. The Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like y'all built this one up a bit too much. It's not a chapter as bad as The Confession (that's later lol)  
> But it is an interesting contrast to a different chapter.

He woke.

His first thought was about whether he had curled up while he had slept, because he didn’t usually sleep with his spine bent like this. But he realized quickly that wasn’t the answer, because the weight and pressure distribution was all wrong, too. Instead of the mattress pressing against his body, there was something less comfortable locked in the crock of his knees, and across his upper back. He wasn’t flat either, but rolled slightly to one side.

Someone was carrying him.

Whomever it was, they were moving slowly. Naegi doubted they meant to wake him. His eyes were shut and he kept them that way, still close to the haze of sleep. The warm body holding him helped push him back there, but he didn’t quite make it.

Then, the person set him down. On something cold and hard and most definitely not a bed. Naegi squirmed and grumbled to let his displeasure be known, still close enough to sleep that he didn’t open his eyes. Someone breathed next to him. Fabric dropped on his head. Naegi automatically moved to pull whatever it was off, but a touched to his back stopped him.

“Naegi-kun, are you awake?”

He nodded sleepily. “Yeah.”

Eyes still closed, he began to push himself up. But the moment his head left the ground, Komaeda gently – but firmly – pushed it back down and rolled Naegi onto his stomach. It happened the second time Naegi tried to rise and this time, Komaeda left his hand on the back of his skull until Naegi understood Komaeda didn’t want him to move. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see much due to the fabric thing blocking his vision.

“I need to speak to you,” Komaeda said. With one hand, he kept a steady presence on Naegi’s neck in a constant reminder that he couldn’t move. The other hand lifted Naegi’s chin just a little, and then the hand was off his neck and fumbling around his face.

He jerked away at the unexpected groping. “Komaeda-kun?”

“Close your eyes for me, okay? Good boy. Thank you, Naegi-kun.”

Komaeda seemed to be after the fabric. Naegi could feel it rustling and moving, and then suddenly he could feel it against his face too. It slid over smoothly, reaching down to his chin. When Komaeda’s hands moved away, he touched the edges. Was that . . . a bag? Over his head?

“Uh, Komaeda-kun?”

He started to squirm, but then Komaeda’s knee was in the shallow of his back, keeping him pinned. For the first time, it dawned upon him that this was not normal.

“There’s been some bad news,” Komaeda said in his scratchy voice. “Before I talk about it, I want to ask you this: is there something you want to tell me?”

“No.”

“You sure? There’s nothing eating away at your soul? No _secrets_?”

Naegi’s eyes shot open. All he could see was the suffocating darkness.

Komaeda said, “Well?”

“Nothing,” Naegi lied. “I’m not hiding anything from you.”

“That’s your answer, huh? I must say, I really am disappointed. You see, I was talking to my friend at the Future Foundation. . .” Naegi could feel Komaeda’s lips coming close to his ear. “. . . and she told me something very interesting.”

His ribs constricted. What would the Future Foundation know? Could it be that Kirigiri had been caught? No, she would never let something like that happen. But what else could they know?

Fingers dug into his scalp.

“. . . It had to do with an _email_.”

There was only one email Naegi knew about, only one thing Komaeda could be referring to. But _now_? So far after the fact? He’d thought he’d gotten away with it!

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” Naegi said. Somehow. He had no idea how he forced that out of his mouth.

“No? You don’t know about an email they received about your sister?” Komaeda said. His hand curled shut around the back of Naegi’s throat, and it couldn’t be by accident that Komaeda started to shake him. “You have no idea who sent that email telling them where your sister was? The one _begging_ them to save her?”

“I don’t k-know. I don’t know who -”

He squeaked as Komaeda’s shaking caused his head to lift off the floor, only for Komaeda to quickly shove it down again. The heavy heat of Komaeda’s presence spread over him as the larger teen straddled his back and bent down so that his face hovered just above Naegi’s head.

“Alright, if it wasn’t you, then who was it?” Komaeda pressed. “Who else would care about that insignificant–”

“She’s not insignificant!” Naegi shouted. “She’s –”

His words were muffled into silence as Komaeda’s hand clamped over his mouth through the bag. “See, you’re arguing with me. You’re not as well-behaved as you like to pretend you are. So why shouldn’t I think you’re lying? Why shouldn’t I believe that it wasn’t Komaru’s big brother who told the Future Foundation to save her?”

There really was no good answer to that. It was the last rational thought he had before he desperately tried to pull the bag off his head –

“Did I say you could touch that?” Komaeda said dangerously. He took advantage of Naegi’s freeze to grab his wrists and yanked them back hard enough to hurt.

“Wh-why? Why can’t I see? Where are we?” Naegi whimpered.

“That’s not important,” Komaeda said, all the while pulling and handling his wrists. “I _know_ you sent that email, Naegi-kun. I don’t like you lying to me about that.”

He swallowed down a scream. “I don’t like this. I want to go back to my room –”

“And I want you to stop lying,” Komaeda said. “But if you’re not going to give me what I want, why should I give you what you want?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .”

He was mumbling gibberish. He was mumbling high-pitched gibberish when Komaeda suddenly grinded his cheek against the ground. His arms still weren’t moving. Well, they were but they wouldn’t . . . they were bound. Komaeda had tied his wrists together. He tugged at them in spurts, growing more and more frantic as they refused to give.

And he started to cry. It wasn’t a quiet cry, but an ugly one with writhing, as much as he could with Komaeda’s weight on top of him. Fingers dug into the scruff of his neck in a primal display of dominance as heavy breathing settled over the exposed skin there.

“Naegi-kun, how did you send that email?”

Naegi shook his head.

Suddenly, Komaeda’s weight shifted back, settling around his hips. The pressure on his neck disappeared. He was still crying, but at least it had quietened into whimpering.

“I’m disappointed,” Komaeda said calmly.

_BANG!_

A shockwave rattled his bones as air blasted over his body. Close, so very, very close, was a metallic groan as _something_ came to life.

“You remember that sound, don’t you?” Komaeda said.

“No . . . please, stop . . .”

“I gave you a chance,” Komaeda said. “I gave you many chances.”

“No . . .”

“And that means you need to be _punished_.”

And the block slammed down again.

“Komaeda-kun!”

Komaeda suddenly yanked him up, arm locking around Naegi’s shoulders as Naegi’s chest went flush to his, bring Naegi into a sitting position with his legs folded beneath him.

“Are you going to behave now?” Komaeda asked.

The block was slamming away and maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed to be copying his heartbeats. He couldn’t see it, but he could _sense_ it in front of him, so very close. How much leeway did he have? If he reached out – if he _could_ reach out – would his arm be gone?

He cried out as he was suddenly shoved forward, only to be reeled back just as fast. When their bodies made contact, he pressed himself backwards against Komaeda’s thin chest. There was no thought in his mind but getting away from that _sound_ , to crawl up to the one who would protect him . . .

“Shh . . . It’s okay.” Komaeda pressed through the fabric to his cheekbones, as if to wipe away the tears he couldn’t see. “I just want one thing from you. One little word, that’s all. I promise. Did you send the Future Foundation an email about your sister’s location?”

Naegi was silent. Behind his back, he grabbed Komaeda’s shirt for comfort.

“Naegi-kun, are you going to answer me?”

“. . . N-no. It wasn’t me.”

Komaeda’s grip on him slackened.

“Naegi-kun?”

“Y-yes?”

“Be afraid.”

Komaeda shoved him forwards.

With his arms behind his back and no way to stop the fall, he hit the ground hard, the bag doing little to soften the impact. Hardly a second later, the block came _down_ right next to his ear. His attempt to leap backwards was pre-empted by Komaeda sprawling across his back, covering everything except his head, the part of him closest to wherever that block was.

_BANG!_

Did it touch his hair? It definitely touched his hair. His ahoge was shifting with the impact, and in the heat of the moment, he envisioned it like a finger; a finger filled with blood that exploded as the block slammed down . . .

“It wasn’t . . .”

Komaeda slapped him over the back of his head. Not very hard, but enough to make him fall silent.

“Naegi-kun, you may be Hope, but you are far from the Ultimate Actor.”

“Do you want to be punished?” Komaeda asked him. “Is that why you keep lying to me? Do you want to be punished because you’re a _liar?_ You put your _name_ in the email. Do you think I’m not smart enough to know what that means? Ah, that’s it, right? Someone as unremarkable, as ordinary as Komaeda Nagito could never grasp the level at which your mind operates . . .”

He shuddered. The damp fabric of the bag stuck to his skin as the execution block kept pounding away. The small space of air he had allowed had become thick and damp, like smog on a hot summer’s day.

“I don’t want to be punished!” Naegi cried.

“Then _stop lying!_ ”

His chin bounced a little off the ground. Komaeda’s tangled hair grazed his skin.

“Tell me the truth.”

Even if he wanted to, there was no way to answer. That thick, smoggy air had solidified in his throat, and its ice-like touch was gradually spreading downwards.

Komaeda suddenly flipped him over onto his back. Metal groaned and then shrieked as _something_ happened. Without any warning, the bag was ripped off his head but it wasn’t Komaeda’s rage or the block that greeted his eyes, but a paper.

A paper with a printout of the email he had sent.

“Do you recognize this?” Komaeda asked.

Through a screen of tears, Naegi looked at the paper. He could see his own name on it, underlined with black marker. It had made sense at the time. He’d wanted the Future Foundation to know he was okay; he’d wanted his friends to know he was alive.

It was, in the end, all his fault.

“Did you write this?”

Why lie? He had already lost.

“Y-yes.”

Komaeda sighed. The paper vanished and he was staring upward at Komaeda’s head as the older teen fumbled with something in his pocket. The guillotine screeched again, but this time it chugged to a stop. His head rolled back as the mechanism stilled and . . . _it had been that close!?_

“Come here,” Komaeda said.

Komaeda crocked his finger, demanding obedience. Naegi slowly sat up. Komaeda hugged him, using one hand to wipe away lingering tears.

“Thank you. You know I don’t like doing this to you,” Komaeda mumbled. “Can you cooperate with me? I just need you to answer one more question . . . How did you send that email?”

That . . . was not something he could share. It was one thing to tattle when Komaeda was waving proof in his face, it was another to confess when Komaeda didn’t know. If he did talk, then Komaeda would know better next time. Komaeda wouldn’t leave him with that computer, and he just might not talk let Naegi talk to Komaru at all . . .

Except Komaru had gone missing, hadn’t she? So, if she was no longer here, then did it matter . . .?

He didn’t decide fast enough for Komaeda. “Come on, don’t make me do this to you.”

Naegi was silent.

Before he could prepare himself, Komaeda flipped him over and slammed him back into the ground. The impact was unexpected and strong enough that his teeth sliced into the inside of his cheek and drew blood. He couldn’t even spit it out before Komaeda was yanking his hair back, forcing him to stare straight ahead –

_BANG!_

_Too close! Too close too close **too close!**_ He couldn’t move, because if he did he’d be crushed. That’s how close it was. The gears turned, and the block began to rise, climbing out of Naegi’s sight as Komaeda pushed his head down and kept him from following it.

Komaeda said, “Please don’t make me turn on the conveyer belt.”

The conveyor . . . No, he wouldn’t.

_BANG!_

He would.

Naegi could hear the clanking as the conveyor belt rumbled to life and he was already so, _so close_. Just a couple of seconds of movement would be enough to move his head under the block where it would split like an overripe fruit and _oh god the ground was moving –_

“Stop _, stop! MIKAN! KUMA!_ _HELP ME!”_

“The email, Naegi-kun.”

“ _MIKAN!_ ”

“Hey!”

There was a sharp sound. Almost like a clang. Did the block have yet another surprise? Komaeda’s weight was off him and that meant . . . he was going to die. Komaeda had abandoned him to his execution and he was _dead_ –

“H-hey! Naegi, calm down!”

It took a hand grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling him off to stop his screaming. Soda was cringing, holding him at a distance as if he were a particularly smelly piece of trash.

“Gees, if I go deaf, it’s your fault,” Soda said. “Uh, are you okay?”

Did he look okay? Did he look okay and . . . _the floor was still moving_ – _!_

. . . Only, it wasn’t the floor _he_ was on. The conveyor belt was moving, but he wasn’t on it. Rather, he was next to it. Had Soda pulled him off, or had he been merely next to it the whole time? The answer came in a flash: it was the latter, of course. Komaeda was mad, but he wouldn’t kill him over something like this. He might scream at him or shake him or smack him around a bit, but _killing_ him _?_ No, it had all been a ruse to wring information out of him, because that’s what Komaeda did and Komaeda always got what he wanted –

Komaeda groaned. He was on his hands and knees, rubbing the back of his head., Naegi noticed that one of Soda’s hands were balled into a fist.

“What the hell, man?” Soda demanded. He probably didn’t mean to do it, but as he yelled at Komaeda, he shook Naegi a little and made him try to pull his head inside his shirt like a turtle. “Don’t you know anything about safety? You don’t bring people that close to things like that. That’s not cool!”

“I appreciate that you’re looking out for him,” Komaeda said, and it was impossible to tell whether he meant it. “However, I do have a reason for . . .”

Soda groaned with annoyance. “This is another one of your ‘Blow up the gym’ plans, isn’t it? So, yeah, just . . . cut it out! You’re not expelling him or getting him licked by a giant dog or whatever freaky things you have in mind.”

Komaeda shrugged. “I didn’t do any of that.”

“Yeah, but your crazy luck did!”

“Whom am I to challenge the will of fate?” Komaeda said, eyes gleaming with something undecipherable.

“Look, just stay away from him!” Soda snapped. Naegi was tucked under his arm as the Mechanic started to stand. “You’re creeping him out. Right, Naegi?”

“I’m not doing this on based on my own wants. This is all on Kuzuryu-kun’s behalf.” Komaeda was speaking to Soda, but his eyes were locked on Naegi’s as he spoke.

“Kuzuryu? Y-you’re lying! You gotta be lying.”

“Kuzuryu-kun is very upset over the email incident,” Komaeda said.

“The what?”

“You haven’t heard?” Komaeda asked, a little too gleefully. “The prisoners in Towa City have escaped. Naegi tipped the Future Foundation off.”

The arm that had been holding Naegi up vanished, leaving him to nearly fall flat on his stomach.

“What the hell?” Soda said, looking like he was on the brink of tearing up in frustration. “I thought you were our friend!”

“I-I am,” Naegi said, but he couldn’t hold eye contact.

“Kuzuryu-kun is very angry,” Komaeda said. “That’s why I’m doing this. Naegi-kun, I did warn you not to make him angry.”

Komaeda’s eye bore into his soul. The message was clear: _Naegi, this is your fault._ And . . . it was, wasn’t it? Komaeda had warned him about Kuzuryu coming after him. Komaeda was only doing what he had been told to do. It was just his luck that this email came back to kick Kuzuryu over the edge.

“Well, I guess it ain’t that bad, right?” Soda said. “I mean they’re on an island and all . . .”

“Wh-what?” Naegi choked out. Nobody had mentioned _that_.

“Towa City is an island,” Komaeda said. “That’s the only reason it’s still standing. So, wherever those escapees went, they couldn’t have gone far . . .”

No. That couldn’t be true, could it? Komaeda had to be lying.

Soda laughed. “Yeah, so we’ll get ‘em back in no time, right?”

No.

“Of course. And we’ll have to get rid of them once we do,” Komaeda said casually, eying Naegi. “Kuzuryu-kun doesn’t know how Naegi-kun was able to get that email out, and we can’t risk the Future Foundation getting any more tips. . .”

Take care of them? So Komaru would . . . die? Because of that email he sent out. Komaru would die, and it would be his fault.

He looked up at Komaeda, zombie-ish in his movements. He was going to kill Komaru. Unless . . . Unless he–

It felt like someone poked his brain with a cattle prod. Kirigiri’s spectre must have tagged along with Alter Ego, because it grabbed his brain with an icy grip and hissed into his mind.

 _We’re taking care of it_.

Then it was okay, right? Kirigiri said they would save her, and Kirigiri didn’t lie. Kirigiri was smart and always had a plan, and she wouldn’t lie to him. He had to believe that. Because Komaeda was watching him and just waiting for him to crack.

“I guess that’s how it has to be,” he told Komaeda.

Komaeda’s smile grew strained.

“Is that so?” Komaeda said.

“Yes.”

He could see a mask slip over Komaeda’s face as Naegi defied him. It was amazing how calm Komaeda pretended to be; perhaps it was even more amazing that Naegi could tell it was a lie.

“Wait a second, I’m not here to have small talk with you,” Soda said, glaring at Komaeda. “Go away!”

Naegi met Komaeda’s eyes. He wished he could read minds.

“Alright, Soda-kun. I’ll leave him in your excellent hands,” Komaeda said. “See you later, Naegi-kun.”

Though Komaeda took his time leaving, it seemed to Naegi he was there one moment and not the next. He suddenly realized that his hands were numb, and looked down to see them balled into white-knuckled fists. He loosened them, but even that wasn’t enough to get rid of his tension completely; his ribs were stretched around a large, empty hollow, like an overinflated balloon.

“So, what was that about?” Soda asked.

“Kuzuryu-kun’s mad at me,” Naegi said. “I think Komaeda-kun is, too.”

“Uh, well I figured that much out. But like, what's with _that_?” A remote in his hand, Soda gestured at the slumbering guillotine. He also took a second to shut down the conveyor with the remote.

“He was _really_ mad,” Naegi muttered.

“I can sympathize,” Soda said. “Gotta say though, my old man never tried anything like this. Probably cause it would be too hard to hide something this big in the garage. It would get a lot of questions.”

“You think your dad would have made something like this if he could?”

“Probably not. I mean if he did, it wouldn’t be much use. This is only really good for killing; you’re not going to beat anyone with it.”

It looked as though Soda suddenly had an epiphany. If he did, then they both had one at the same time.

“Soda-kun, your father used to . . .?”

“Say, Komaeda wasn’t trying to kill you, was he?”

“No. I just panicked. He never takes it far enough to kill me.”

“You mean he’s done this before?” Soda asked.

“. . .Yeah.”

“What the hell? Who does he think he is, your dad or something? That’s just messed up.”

“It’d be messed up even if he was my dad,” Naegi said.

Soda acted as though he hadn’t heard. “Look, I trust that creep just a little more than I trust Kamukura. If he’s gonna mess around with stuff like this, then I’ll just take the thing apart. Hey, I could fill a cannon with Monokumas and see how many it takes to fall down! I was looking for something to do anyways. You can stick around if you want.”

Soda seemed happy now. Naegi, too, felt better upon seeing that sharp-toothed grin, as though he were soaking up Soda’s happiness like a sponge. That didn’t stop him from asking his next question though.

“Do you think Komaeda-kun is still mad at me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? It wasn't too bad!
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> A certain someone finally makes a move on Naegi. Oh, and Komaeda continues blaming other people for his actions.


	75. The Proposal

“Makoto?”

Naegi stopped mid-step. Nevermind smiled gently at him, flanked by a couple of her guards.

“I was wondering if you would like to have brunch with me,” Nevermind said.

“Sure,” Naegi said. “I was on my way to the dining room anyways.”

“How about we eat in my room?” Nevermind asked. “My servants would be happy to bring food to us.”

Well, who was he to refuse a request from a queen? Nevermind had always been kind to him too, so it’s not like this was a chore or anything. He accepted her offered hand (gloved, like Kirigiri’s, he noted sadly). She led him to her room with the straight-backed, regal posture expected of royalty.

Ah, she’d changed the curtains. They were hanging threads lined with crystals that cast a swaying array of rainbow streaks across the floor. Maybe it was just him, maybe it was some lingering consequence of that short trip outside he’d once taken, but the daylight seemed exceptionally bright as it came through the windows. They sat at the same table they had last time, her on one end and him on the other.

Nevermind said, “Forgive me for prying, but I heard there was some unpleasantness between you and Komaeda-kun last night.”

He had just been about to drink some tea, too. Grimacing, Naegi set the teacup down. “He’s mad at me.”

“Is that it?” Nevermind asked. “Soda-kun’s description was more . . . intense.”

“Is he telling everyone?” Naegi asked warily. He could only imagine how Komaeda would take that.

“Perhaps. Soda-kun is not the type to stand by when one of his friends need help. He’s quite amazing that way.” She giggled, and sighed lovingly. “Soda-kun is always so modest. He’s such a kind, gentle, handsome person who . . .”

He raised his eyebrows as Nevermind went on. Usually, Koizumi would cut her short, but the Photographer wasn’t here right now. Should he stop her . . .? Nah. It gave him a chance to enjoy his tea.

“. . . Soda-kun truly is amazing,” she finished. She giggled suddenly, as if the object of her affections was right in front of her.

“He’s really good with machines,” Naegi said diplomatically. “And he always has really fun ideas for Friday!”

She smiled. “Has he told you about this upcoming Friday?”

“No.”

Her smile only grew. “Please make sure you are free that day.”

Normally, that would be intimidating. But in the current context, it sounded extremely fun.

They spent a bit of time actually eating. He didn’t even need to fill his plate because the servants did that for him. Strangely, they already seemed to have an idea of what he liked. (Was that because Nevermind had interrogated all those poor people about him?)

“You no longer wear your hoodie,” Nevermind said.

“. . . I decided to change it up a bit,” Naegi lied. He hurriedly raised his teacup to his lips so that he wouldn’t have to say anything else.

“It’s surprising I didn’t notice it before, but you look exactly like _him_ ,” Nevermind said.

“. . . Uh?”

“The legendary hero of Novoselic!” Nevermind declared, fist coming down on the table. “The hero is said to possess a white shirt, an antenna on top of his head, and a completely unremarkable face. You fit that description perfectly. Truly, our meeting is the will of fate!”

Naegi touched his cheek. Unremarkable? Well, at least it wasn’t ugly.

“Fate, or luck,” Naegi said. “I guess they’re not that different.”

Nevermind was staring at him intensely. She leaned forward. “Naegi-kun, have you ever thought about marriage?”

He nearly choked on his own spit.

“Uh, no! No, I’m not even dating anyone. So, I haven’t thought about it at all . . .”

“You’re still in the mindset of a commoner,” Nevermind said. “While it is nice to marry for love, in the world of royalty, marriage is often a way to consolidate power. A marriage between royalty is meant to bring two countries together so that they are stronger. Novoselic is the only country still in existence, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t alliances I wish to make.”

“Are you . . . are you proposing to me?”

This was . . . Wow. A queen just proposed to him. It would be awe-impairing if she wasn’t the Queen of Despair.

“Do not think that a union between us would limit you. Many kings have concubines, although not in Novoselic . . . However, I wouldn’t mind. Please, feel free to have a harem.” She clapped her hands together with joy. “It would be so despairful!”

“I’ll keep all this in mind,” Naegi said slowly. “I’m not thinking about marriage right now, though.”

“If we were to marry, do you think Soda-kun would be jealous?” she asked.

He had an urge to let his head slam into the table.

One of Nevermind’s officers entered the room and approached his queen. They spoke in that language he didn’t understand, though Naegi was able to pick up that Nevermind seemed annoyed.

“What was that?” Naegi asked as the officer left.

“Rebels,” Nevermind said shortly. “They’re relentless, it seems. However, once we execute the ringleaders, this problem will go away.”

“You really think that, huh?”

“You don’t?” Nevermind said.

“I mean, maybe they’ll be quiet for a while, but I’m sure people will start rebelling again,” Naegi said. “I haven’t seen much of the world but I can guess what things are like, and when you treat people that horribly, they’re going to rise eventually.”

She sniffed. “Those _foreigners_ are clinging to outdated nationalistic ideas. Once they realize how flawed they are, they will submit. If not, then . . . Well, Novoselic will simply make sure they are no longer a threat.”

“Okay, but what about Novoselic itself? What happens when they start rebelling against you.”

Nevermind went very still. Her nostrils flared. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean most people don’t like living under a dictatorship,” Naegi said. “There’s bound to be a lot of discontent, and I don’t think it’s too far-fetched to think that would fuel a rebellion.”

The soft _plink_ her fork made when she set it down rang through the air. “I don’t know who you’ve been getting this information from, but I can assure you it is _wrong_. The citizens of Novoselic do not live under a dictatorship.”

“. . . You’ve personally ordered the deaths of – I don’t know – hundreds of people. Your country’s at constant war, you say you’ve occupied all of Europe, and I can’t imagine every one of your citizens were happy with that,” he said. “So, what happened to the dissenters?”

“They were not true Novoselics,” Nevermind scoffed. “They had little more intention than to –”

“So, there _was_ dissent?”

“Every country has a justice system,” Nevermind said. She still sounded collected, but this was the most shaken Naegi had ever seen her. “Society collapses without laws.”

“Yeah, but they usually jail people, not execute them.” He was only guessing here, as he had no idea whether any of the executions he had seen were Novoselic citizens.

It appeared, however, he had hit the mark, as the only defense Nevermind could muster up was, “I am not a tyrant!”

“Did you ever ask them about that?”

His question hung. Nevermind cleared her throat, and then waved that officer, Phillip, over. Whatever she said to him roused a vehement refusal accompanied by fierce shaking of his head. Nevermind dismissed him, and then turned to Naegi with smug triumph.

“That doesn’t count!” Naegi said. “If you go around executing anyone who disagrees with you, obviously, he’s going to say what you want. Plus, he’s a soldier so he’s supposed to be loyal to you.”

Nevermind didn’t back down. “He may indeed be lying, but he may also be speaking the truth. How would you propose we settle this?”

A haze of hesitation closed in around him. He knew the answer. He knew the words that needed to come next. Just . . . he didn’t want to say them. They were . . . no. This was for _hope_. That made it okay, right? Yes, it must. His intentions were pure. And it would only be for a little while.

“What about the Monokuma helmets? If you order him to answer truthfully while he’s wearing one of those, then he has to, doesn’t he?”

She smiled. “Yes, he does.”

She barked an order at one of her servants, presumably to retrieve a Monokuma helmet. In the awkward silence that followed, Naegi gulped down food. When the servant returned with the black and white helmet, Nevermind called for Phillip again. She held the helmet out to him, and Naegi watched as his face twisted with nervousness. Phillip seemed to be refusing at first, but Nevermind repeated her words and the officers reluctantly took the helmet and fit it over his head. The red eye lit up, and Phillip stood at rapt attention.

“Let us begin,” Nevermind said. She enunciated Phillip’s name loudly, and then spoke to him.

Naegi had no way of understanding what came next. The influence of the Monokuma helmet had sapped any inflection out of Phillip’s tone. Nevermind’s expression never changed either, so there was no getting information out of that. When Nevermind put up her hand and Phillip stopped speaking, Naegi still had no idea what had happened.

“You see?” Nevermind said to him.

“Uh, actually, I couldn’t understand him.”

“Yes, that’s right. You only speak Japanese,” Nevermind said. “I can assure you that my officer agrees your accusations are unfounded.”

It hadn’t worked? Damn it! It was possible he was misjudging the situation, but he doubted it. Still, he had no other way of proving he was right. He apologized, realizing that this time, there wasn’t much else he could do.

“Ah, we have taken longer than I thought,” Nevermind said. “Are you finished eating, Makoto? I’m afraid I have another engagement.”

He was that hungry anymore, anyways. “I’m done. Thank you for inviting me.”

“It was my pleasure. I will see you again later today. Please, think about what we discussed today.” Nevermind waved her hand, and one of the servants walked over to the door and opened it, waiting patiently for Naegi to make his departure.

Once he was safety outside, he let the smile drop. He really had expected that to work! Perhaps Nevermind’s people were more loyal than he had thought, or those close to her saw less violence than he had expected.

Ah, oh well. Just another reason to focus on his battle with the Imposter.

* * *

Nevermind’s stare was icy cold as the officer removed the helmet. Phillip took a moment or so to shake off the brainwashing, and then the helmet slipped from his fingers and smashed upon the ground. Colour drained from his face, leaving pasty white flesh behind that stood in stark contrast to his lips.

“Y-your Majesty! Please, forgive me! I was not of my right mind. That accursed contraption, it made me speak falsely –”

“It did not,” Nevermind said, staring straight ahead rather than at her officer. “It forced you to speak the truth.”

“Never!”

Yet even as he denied her claims, Nevermind’s loyal bodyguards were moving in. Those close enough muscled their way between their queen and the stuttering officer. The others circled their traitorous brethren, weapons ready.

“My Queen, please! My loyalties lie only with you and our kingdom. What must I do to make up for this travesty? Is it . . . is my death what you desire? Is that my only way for redemption? I-if . . . if you so desire, then so be. . .”

“Enough.”

By the time Nevermind said that, the officer had already drawn the ceremonial knife strapped to his belt. It hung awkwardly in his hand, pointed towards him, as Nevermind began to explain.

“This, indeed, is an unexpected turn of events. However, despite your _personal_ opinions, you have served me faithfully through the years. Continue to do so, and your privates thoughts can remain such.”

“Th-thank you, your Majesty!” The officer bowed hurriedly. Around him, Nevermind’s people put away their arms and returned to their assigned position.

“However, I do,” Nevermind said loudly, “suggest that you re-educate yourself on the meaning of a ‘tyrant’. That goes for everyone present.”

She kept looking around with her stony gaze, until someone finally gained the courage to ask, “Now, your Majesty?”

“You don’t believe I said I had a scheduled engagement just to get rid of Makoto, do you? As a matter of fact, I do have something to do and it requires privacy. Clean up, and then be on your way. You may post guards outside my door.”

Not a word more was said. Servants swept forward to clean up the table, and sweep up the few crumbs that had made it to the floor. The soldiers remained on guard, as if concerned that even the maids might pull out a knife and assault their queen. Once everything was cleaned away, the servants took their leave. The soldiers followed them. The last two saluted to their queen, before shutting the door and leaving Nevermind to herself. The queen of Novoselic reached out for the teapot that had been left behind, intent on pouring herself a new cup . . .

She had to put it back down when she realized how badly her hands were shaking.

* * *

“I didn’t see you at breakfast today.”

Naegi wouldn’t lie and say this was an unexpected encounter, but he hadn’t expected it to come this early. He wondered whose luck should be blamed for Komaeda wandering outside just when Naegi had left Nevermind’s room. ( _ ~~Or had Komaeda been waiting the whole time?~~_ ).

“Nevermind-san wanted to eat with me,” Naegi said.

“Was that her idea?”

“Uh, yes? Whose else would it be?”

Komaeda took a second, before relaxing into a smile. “That was a silly question, wasn’t it? I guess I’m just a little paranoid. I thought you might have been avoiding me after yesterday. Not that I could blame you. The feelings of someone like me mean so little compared –”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Naegi said firmly.

Komaeda’s eyes drifted shut as his smile grew. “As you wish. Still, I could hardly blame you if you needed some time alone. It really was excessive, wasn’t it? Kuzuryu-kun’s methods don’t draw much distinction between friends and enemies.”

“Are you sure you should be calling me and Kuzuryu-kun friends?” Naegi asked quietly.

Komaeda patted his shoulder and let his fingers dig in for a crude massage. “He’s not doing this because he hates you. He is mad, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to be worried; worrying is not a very yakuza-like thing to do. We’re only doing this _because_ we care about you. It’s a bit difficult to wrap your head around, but it’s the truth.”

“You hurt people because you care about them,” Naegi said, letting the irony show.

“Well . . . yes. You should know that. It’s not like you’ve never dealt with it before.”

‘Wh-what you are talking about?” Naegi said, taking a wary step back.

“Kirigiri-san,” Komaeda said easily. “I don’t know if someone as detached as the Ultimate Detective can have best friends, but you were certainly the closest.”

“That trial wasn’t her fault!” Naegi said hotly. “The mastermind broke the rules. Kirigiri-san didn’t –”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Komaeda said. “That had nothing to do with Kirigiri-san at all. That was Junko’s attempt to replace the hope of escape with a despair powerful enough that none of you would even realize you had lost hope. Of course, we all know how _that_ turned out.”

“She created the Ultimate Hope instead,” Naegi parroted. “Then what were you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember how Kirigiri-san made you check out the secret room?” Komaeda asked. “The reason she asked you to was because she expected the mastermind to react violently. But she asked you because out of everyone there, she trusted you the most, right?”

“. . . I guess.”

“Oogami-san did it, too!” Komaeda said happily. “Her suicide nearly threw Asahina-san into despair, but she did it because she cared about you! You can even use Genocider Shou as an example. Fukawa-san said she only killed boys she liked, right?”

“Yeah. . . she did.”

“You see? Just because they hurt you doesn’t mean they don’t like you,” Komaeda said. “That’s how it goes: you always hurt the ones you love!”

His brain felt fuzzy.

Komaeda ruffled his hair. “You’ll understand some day. I do want to apologize for last night though.”

“You were just doing what Kuzuryu-kun told you to do,” Naegi said.

“I know. But I feel bad about it, so I arranged a little something to make up for it. I heard you had a _special_ visitor a few days ago.”

He was proud that it took a second to figure out what Komaeda was referring to.

“Yeah, I did! Do you know if I can see my dad, too?”

“We’ll see,” Komaeda said neutrally. “I’m sure you want to see your mother again though. How about if I let you spend the rest of the day with her?”

“With my mom?” he said slowly, aware of what that really meant. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Only because you’re my favourite,” Komaeda said.

“Yes! Where is she? Can I see her now?”

“Follow me.”

As Komaeda led the way, Naegi could only think one thing:

This was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sonia/makoto is the true otp
> 
> Next Chapter: Naegi and his mom spend some quality time together.


	76. The Charade

“M-Makoto!”

That word was followed by screeching, almost like a siren. He realized it was Mikan a second before she made contact. She latched onto his side, wet-eyed, and he had no idea why.

“Are you okay?” Mikan asked. “Soda-kun said something bad happened last night. Do you need to go to the infirmary? Umm, I can give you a checkup and –”

Komaeda cleared his throat.

“Oh,” Mikan said. “I didn’t see you there.”

Mikan’s tone was oddly flat. Naegi looked between the two, suddenly worried about a fight.

“Ah, well I _am_ here,” Komaeda said. “Naegi-kun and I have something to do.”

Komaeda put a hand on Naegi’s back, and pushed him along. Mikan squeaked, and trotted along behind them.

“Umm, wh-what are you doing?” Mikan asked.

“We’re not doing anything, we’re just going somewhere,” Komaeda said.

“But, umm, I think he should come with me!” Mikan latched onto him again. “Soda-kun said it was dangerous! What if he’s hurt and . . .?”

“Naegi-kun, are you hurt?” Komaeda asked.

“Uh, I don’t think so.”

“You see,” Komaeda said to Mikan. “He’s fine. Unless you’re calling him a liar.”

“E-eh?” Mikan reeled back. “He i-isn’t a liar, but . . .”

“Then there’s no problem,” Komaeda said cheerfully. “Come on, Naegi-kun. Let’s get going.”

Mikan still followed them, so Naegi took it upon himself to ease her worries. “It’s fine, Mikan. Komaeda-kun’s taking me to see my mom. He says I get to spend the entire day with her.”

“Yes, I did hear about that,” Mikan said, sounding uncomfortable. He wondered if it was just the general aversion to his biological family he was hearing, or something else. He couldn’t ask though. Not with Komaeda right next to him.

Ultimate Despair had set up the scene well. The Imposter was shoved out of the prison as they approached. On either side, Owari and Nidai held onto his (her?) arms while wearing no-nonsense faces. The Imposter himself was letting his weight lean into their grips, as if too weak to stand on his own. If Naegi hadn’t already known this was a lie, he surely would have run forward and . . . Wait. Is that what he should be doing now? Damn it! He wasn’t sure how to act here! He decided to go for the rushing forward, hoping they’d chalk down his hesitation to shock. He stopped just before he reached the trio, giving Owari and Nidai the space they needed to play their parts.

“Here she is,” Owari said. She slung the Imposter forward as Nidai let go, letting his ‘mother’ fall to her knees. Naegi couldn’t help but notice though that he fell too smoothly, as if it had all been rehearsed. Still, he knew what Ultimate Despair would be expecting of him, so he dropped to his own knees right in front of the fraud.

“Mom,” he said. He didn’t say anything else, waiting to see where the Imposter’s words would lead him.

“Makoto. . .”

Looks like they were going for the ‘So glad to see you route’. That one was easy enough to fake. Just return the hug, bury your face in his shoulder so everyone else can’t see you’re not teary, and that would be enough.

“Alright, Naegi-kun. You two have a fun day,” Komaeda said, waving.

“Yeah, but don’t do anything stupid!” Owari said, jabbing her pointer finger into the Imposter’s forehead. “I don’t have any problems with hitting girls!”

He wondered. . . Would Owari really beat up the Imposter if it came down to that? Just how far would they go to maintain this charade? It was an interesting question, but one he was better off not answering.

Owari and Nidai not-so-subtly shadowed him for a while to make sure he didn’t immediately try to escape with his ‘mother’. (He wondered if the Imposter would step in if Naegi had tried to escape with him.) When they realized he was heading back to his room and not making a run for it, they backed off. Naegi directed the Imposter down his stairs, took a few moments to talk to a Monokuma soldier, and then walked down into his room himself.

“How have they been treating you?” he asked. He knew everything he’d hear would be lies, but within lies, there was usually a grain of truth. He was hoping that while coming up with the lies, the Imposter would draw upon information based upon his _real_ parents’ condition.

“Well, I’m alive,” the Imposter said. “They do seem to be treating me better ever since they first let me see you.”

“Not well enough, though,” Naegi said, pinching the hanging skin on the Imposter’s arm for emphasis.

“I am still a prisoner,” the Imposter said.

“But are they hurting you at all? Have they touched you?”

“No. I only see them when they deliver food.”

That was a good sign. Although the Imposter might have no choice but to say that since he wasn’t visibly injured. But Iwata seemed to be in that generally-ignored position, too, so Naegi took that nugget of information optimistically.

“No news on Dad?”

“No. Nothing about your sister, either.” The Imposter sniffled. “Oh, I’m so worried for that.”

So that was it. That was the trap. _Obviously_ Naegi Makoto – her son and the Ultimate Hope – would seek to soothe her despair and let her know that there was still hope for Komaru. _Obviously,_ he would tell her just how he knew Komaru was okay, and then it would only be natural to follow up with a question of ‘How did this happen?’ and so forth. Such a sneaky trick. Too bad it wasn’t going to work.

He did explain that Komaru was okay and admit to writing the email, because it would be extremely suspicious if he hadn’t. When it came to how he sent the email however, he shook his head.

“We shouldn’t talk about those kind of things,” Naegi said.

“Makoto, if you’re doing something dangerous –”

“ _If_ I had done something dangerous, then you shouldn’t know about it,” he said sternly. “Ultimate Despair won’t hurt me, but they could hurt you. If they find out you know anything, they’ll come after you.”

There. He wallowed in satisfaction, certain he had won this round. Not only did it still play along with the Imposter’s charade, but he was _right_. If this had really been his mother, then she would be in danger if he told her secrets. There was nothing in the Imposter’s face that showed he recognized his loss– the benefit of masks – but Naegi could see in other parts of his body that he had been caught off-guard.

There were steps on the stairs.

“Ah, there you are!” Naegi said to the Monokuma soldier. The soldier handed him a platter with two plates, saluted, and then departed.

“Oh, you’re hungry?” the Imposter asked.

Naegi put the plate down. “I know you’ve probably lost track of time, but I have a calendar. Look what day it is!”

He walked over to said calendar, and pointed at the current date.

“It’s your anniversary!”

This was it. He was banking on the Imposter not knowing the intimate details of his mother’s life. If he did. . . well, then that was that, especially considering this was the wrong season. But he doubted the Imposter had much time to study his newest disguise so . . .

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized that,” the Imposter said.

Success! Naegi said, “I know. I know dad’s not here, but I figured me and you should at least celebrate. He’d want that. Which is why I got the cupcakes!”

He quickly grabbed a plate and shoved it into the Imposter’s hands, giving him no opportunity to refuse.

“I got your favourite flavour and everything,” Naegi lied, as he sat down with his own plate. “It was too short notice to get a cake, so this is the best we got.”

“. . . Oh,” the Imposter said.

“I can’t imagine how long it’s been since you’ve had one of these,” Naegi said. “Go on. Try it.”

His fingers dug into his pants. The Imposter had never said much about how he viewed food, but the fact of the matter was that the other person that skinny was _Owar_ i, who had made her views of food very clear. In their world, not eating equalled despair. And if that was the case, then could it be that eating would . . .?

“I-I can’t accept this,” the Imposter said, looking as though he wanted to throw the plate away.

“No, it’s fine,” Naegi said. “They said they didn’t care as long as this wasn’t some weird escape plan. They’d get more upset if they heard you refused to do something I asked. Plus, I don’t mean to be offensive, but you look like you could really use some food.”

“Oh. . . I . . . u-umm . . .”

“I had it custom-made just for you,” Naegi urged.

 _Come on_ , Naegi thought as he leaned forward. _Let’s see how far you’re willing to go to keep this disguise_.

The Imposter reached forwards, grabbed the cupcake and brought it to his lips. . .

“Oh!”

Oh, how _convenient_ that it would just slip from his fingers. The cupcake landed icing-down, splattering upon the ground. The Imposter gasped.

“I’m so sorry,” the Imposter said. “I didn’t mean to –”

“You can have mine!” Naegi immediately said.

 _Nice try_.

“B-but . . .”

“It’s your anniversary,” Naegi said. “And like I said, you need it more.”

It would be way too suspicious for the Imposter to drop it again. Thus, with a straight face, he picked up the cupcake. He brought it up to his lips as if sniffing it, but Naegi was willing to bet that the hesitation had everything to do with despair. Naegi watched patiently, smiling, hoping he didn’t come off as too predatory. It would all be worth it in the end.

The Imposter took a bite.

“How is it?” Naegi asked innocently.

“It’s very good,” the Imposter said, and Naegi pretended not to notice how he looked like he was going to throw up. “Are you sure you don’t want any? I could give you half –”

“Nope!” Naegi said. “It’s all for you.”

“. . . Oh.”

It was like forcing a child to eat broccoli. Honestly, what Naegi was most impressed about was that the Imposter maintained a neutral expression. If he hadn’t been already looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed the Imposter’s discomfort.

“How was it? I bet that was something different!”

“It was a shock, that’s for sure,” the Imposter said.

Naegi shuffled over, and patted the Imposter’s shoulder. “You know we’ll find dad, right? He’s okay.”

The Imposter sighed. “Oh, Makoto . . .”

“I thought _you_ were dead,” Naegi said. “And I thought Komaru was doomed, too, but I was wrong about both of those. If you two are okay, then why wouldn’t I think dad’s okay, too?”

“Uh, I . . .”

That wasn’t a denial. He latched onto that.

“You shouldn’t get your hopes up too much,” the Imposter tried.

Oh, but he had the perfect response to that! “Mom, I’m the Ultimate Hope. That’s exactly what I’m supposed to do!”

“. . . Yes, you are.”

Did the Imposter just inch away from him?

Naegi’s grin grew. He grabbed the Imposter’s hands. “Yep, so let’s stay on the positive side of things. We can talk about the good, _hopeful_ times, right?”

The Imposter’s eyes narrowed into pinpricks.

“. . . O-of course.”

* * *

“Your Majesty?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Leave it here.” Queen Nevermind gestured vaguely to the spot in front of her, and her meal was deposited there. She stared at it blankly before shaking off those troublesome thoughts from earlier, and began to eat.

“Queen Nevermind.”

Nevermind looked up. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but should we be speaking? What if Makoto -?”

“Help me.”

“. . . Pardon?”

“I know I said I’d spend the day with him, but you don’t understand,” the Imposter said. His eyes were wide and round, his face pinched with exhaustion. “Him and his hope . . . he’s _relentless_.”

“His words do strike deeply sometimes,” Nevermind said, “but it is something we have to endure. For despair’s sake, you cannot falter.”

“You don’t understand!” the Imposter hissed. “I’m going to be with him _all day._ I don’t understand how Komaeda-kun and Tsumiki-san do it!”

“Take control of the conversation,” Nevermind said. “Don’t let him keep preaching.”

“I do, but _he keeps turning it into hope_.”

“Mom?”

The Imposter looked one last time at Nevermind. “Please help me.”

“Mom!”

The Imposter swallowed down a grimace before turning around to greet his ‘son’. “Oh, Makoto, I was just . . .”

“That’s Queen Nevermind. She’s part of Ultimate Despair. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“What brings you two here, Makoto?” Nevermind asked.

“Lunch,” Naegi said. “I’m going to make sure my mom gets a _big_ , proper meal this time.”

Now, the Imposter was begging with his eyes.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Nevermind asked. “You wouldn’t want to throw her system into shock . . .”

“It’s fine,” Naegi said quickly. “Come on, Mom. Let’s go!”

Nevermind could hear the Imposter’s silent sobs as he was dragged away. She winced; she did honestly feel sorry for him. But better him than her.

* * *

 

“Come on, Mom, you’re falling behind!”

“J-just a minute,” the Imposter said, leaning against a wall while he caught his breath.

Naegi looked at him with some sympathy. Maybe he had been a little overzealous with his private revenge on the Imposter. He could back down a little. Even though the Imposter was trying to hit him where it hurt most, and bring him into despair. . . Never mind, the Imposter deserved it.

But he was looking awfully pale . . .

“Are you okay?” Naegi asked.

“I-I’m . . .”

Was that a cough? Or was it a desperate attempt by the Imposter to catch his breath. The Imposter had propped himself against the wall with one arm, but that arm was shaking. His lips were drained of color and . . .  Naegi really had pushed him too far.

“Seriously, are you okay?”

“O-of course.” The Imposter tried to smile.

“No, you’re not,” Naegi said. “You need to rest.”

The Imposter didn’t argue with him. Naegi took a step back, and looked where they were. Based on their location . . . Ah! The infirmary was close. Mikan would be there too, and she could check on him and make sure Naegi hadn’t done any serious damage.

When they crossed through the doors, both Mikan and Komaeda were there. They were speaking to each other, Komaeda’s stance strangely tense and focused, like a pointer dog that had sighted prey. He pulled back his figurative claws once he noticed Naegi watching him, but that didn’t happen for a few seconds.

“Oh, umm . . . what are you two doing here?” Mikan asked.

“Can you look at my mom?” Naegi asked. “I think something might be wrong with her.”

As it always did, the introduction of a new patient completely swallowed Mikan’s attention. Naegi tried to convince himself that she helped the Imposter to a bed because she was getting too excited over the upcoming checkup, not because the Imposter was really unwell.

“You really did a number on her,” Komaeda said and it seemed like he was struggling not to laugh.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” Komaeda said. “She should be honoured to sweat for you.”

“Right.”

The checkup didn’t take too long, and Mikan agreed that it was likely exhaustion. Naegi slipped away from under Komaeda’s arm and waddled over to where Mikan had tucked the Imposter into a bed. Though he was no skinner than the times Naegi had seen him before, it struck him now what that meant for the Imposter’s health.

“I’m sorry,” Naegi said. “I got carried away.”

“It’s okay,” the Imposter said, eyes closed. “It was nice to see you happy.”

“You should have said something,” Naegi said. “If I had known you weren’t feeling well, I would have stopped.”

Behind him, he thought he heard Komaeda scoff. He tried not to sigh.

“I really do appreciate what you were doing,” Naegi said. “It was nice to be able to have fun for once.”

 _To have power, for once,_ is what he really meant.

“You’re welcome.”

Komaeda bounced up behind him. “Hmm? Are you saying I’m not fun to be around, Naegi-kun?”

. . . Crap. That had not been well thought out on his part at all.

“Th-that’s not what I meant!” Naegi said. “I have lots of fun with you, too.”

“That didn’t seem to be what you were saying,” Komaeda said in a singsong voice.

“B-but he’s usually working when he’s with you,” Mikan said. “Because you’re always working on h-hope. I think that’s what he meant.”

 _Thank you, Mikan!_ “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

Komaeda cast an annoyed look at Mikan.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” Komaeda said. “This isn’t something that’s going to happen every day.”

“I know.” And thank god for that. He could keep up the deception for a day. But for several days, or a week? He would mess up somewhere and the Imposter would know this was all for naught.

Suddenly, Komaeda was right behind him, breathing down his neck.

“You should try to enjoy your time together as much as you can, but next time, go easier on her,” Komaeda said. “Family’s an important thing. It would be terrible to lose _all_ of them knowing that you hadn’t departed on the best of terms.”

Naegi flinched. What was he getting at? Had he and his parents said goodbye on bad terms? He . . .couldn’t remember. He didn’t have memories of that year. But Komaeda would, though Naegi couldn’t think of a reason why Komaeda would have overheard. Maybe he was talking about Komaru.

“Komaru and I didn’t depart on bad terms,” Naegi said. “I was rude to her, but I’m sure she understands.”

“Still not a great final conversation,” Komaeda said.

His skin crawled. That wording had been deliberate. With Komaeda, it always was.

“Did they find her?” he asked, mouth dry.

“I’m sorry, Naegi-kun.”

 _No_. The entire world echoed with that one word. “No, th-that’s wrong! Komaru’s fine. She’s been rescued.”

“Is that what you thought?” Komaeda asked. “Naegi-kun, she merely escaped from a locked room. Nobody ever said anything about her actually getting away.”

“ _You’re wrong!_ ” Naegi screeched. “The Future Foundation found her, and Kirigiri-san’s rescued her. She’s fine!”

“If you ask me, that’s an awfully big assumption,” Komaeda said. “What evidence are you basing this on?”

Mikan raised her hand. “Umm, maybe we should . . .”

“There isn’t any, is there?” Komaeda sneered, taking a big step forward. “You don’t have any proof. Honestly, I expected better from the star of the class trials.”

“I don’t need proof,” Naegi said. “I know I’m right.”

“I really think we should stop,” Mikan said.

“How?” Komaeda demanded, grinning like an animal about to strike.

“Because . . . b-because. . . because Kirigiri-san saved her!” Naegi whimpered and spluttered, trying to transform his jumbled thoughts into words. “Kirigiri-san’s the Ultimate Detective, and she’s super smart a-and she’s _never_ wrong! She saved Komaru! You’re wrong; _you’re wrong!_ ”

“Just because the Future Foundation saw the email doesn’t mean she did,” Komaeda said. “Do you really think that the Future Foundation would send an Ultimate like her when they already have so many expendable people? And we both know that ordinary people don’t stand a chance against plans made by people like Kuzuryu-kun.”

“Please, stop!”

“N-no, Kirigiri-san rescued her, and . . . and she’s smarter than all of you!”

Komaeda hissed, “And how do you know she was there -?”

 _Crack_.

Both were silent as they registered the same thing:

Mikan had slapped Komaeda.

 “Ow.” Rubbing his red cheek, Komaeda turned incredulously to her. “What was that for?”

Her eyes were tightly shut as if expecting to be the next victim of a slap, but Mikan still shouted, “Stop bullying him!”

“You stopped me for _that_?” Komaeda made wild, frustrated gestures with his hands. “You . . . I almost had it!”

“You’re being mean to him!” Mikan said. “Stop it!”

He wasn’t sure when he had moved, but somehow, Naegi found himself behind Mikan, peeking out from behind her. She was quite a bit shorter than Komaeda and in that moment, it truly showed. It felt as though Komaeda was leaning right over her to stare at Naegi, or that the sheer size difference was creating enough pressure to force her back.

Komaeda enunciated his words carefully. “Kuzuryu-kun told me to –”

“I don’t care!” Mikan cried. “You don’t have to be so mean.”

Komaeda pulled at his hair.

“Please, can you stop fighting?” the Imposter asked. For a moment, he seemed to slip into his commanding Togami voice.

“I’m going to take a walk!” Komaeda suddenly said. He tromped out of the infirmary, leaving the door swinging behind him.

“. . . Makoto, are you okay?” Mikan asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“He’s been so cruel lately,” Mikan mumbled. “I don’t like it.”

The Imposter stirred. “You both should be careful. That man seems dangerous.”

“O-oh, I’m sorry! I forgot you were there. Do you want some water?”

The Imposter nodded, and Mikan ran off to fulfill his request. Naegi sat on the bed near the pillow.

“I mean it,” the Imposter said. “You should be careful around that person. I think it would be best if you just gave him what he wants.”

“. . . Is that so?”

Maybe it was lingering frustration from that conversation with Komaeda. Maybe it was misplaced anger at the Imposter’s deceit. He didn’t know – he had no idea what he had been thinking. (Maybe the problem was he hadn’t been thinking at all). But the result was the same. Naegi reached out, touched that hair that wasn’t actually hair and gritted his teeth.

He grabbed a handful, and then ripped the Imposter’s mask off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi pls stop bullying the Imposter.


	77. The Face Beneath

He glimpsed a face; pale skin that had been kept away from the sun for most of its life; something that may have been hair. That was all he had though, because a foot drove into his stomach, winding him and sending him tumbling to the ground with the Imposter’s mask tightly clenched in his hand.

Naegi groaned. “H-hey –”

“ _Give that back!_ ”

The unholy shriek was just a prelude to the snarling, ferocious beast that slammed into him. Hands and elbow were everywhere – he automatically bit a finger that found its way into his mouth. Black threads – hairs? – poked his eyes. He couldn’t see. He just kept pushing and kicking, keeping his fingers tightly closed around that mask.

“What are you two . . .? N-no, stop!”

With that, Mikan became part of the fray as she threw herself onto him. (Or did she mean to jump on the Imposter?) They were a wriggling, rolling pile of bodies, pushing and shoving without knowing whom they were pushing. Then, somehow, the Imposter tumbled out of the pile and it was just him and Mikan. Mikan was clinging to him, curled around his body protectively, crushing his head into her chest as she screamed.

She was screaming _really_ loud.

“Mikan . . . Mikan! It’s okay.”

He must have been muffled by her clothing, because she kept screaming.

They had to wait until she literally ran out of breath. She huffed and puffed, her grip on him loosening enough for him to squirm free. Her breath hitched suddenly and her mouth slowly opened as if to scream again . . .

“Mikan, it’s fine! We’re not fighting anymore.”

“H-huh?” Mikan blinked, and then looked around. Her knees were still close to her chest, shielding her vulnerable parts.

After a quick check to make sure he hadn’t been injured, Naegi looked for the Imposter. He thought the Imposter had fled, but then he saw a small blob that shouldn’t be there. Underneath one of the beds, pressed against the wall, was the folded-up body of the Imposter. His back was to them and his body was tightly coiled.

Naegi walked over. “Hey, uh, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

The Imposter was silent.

Naegi looked at Mikan and wordlessly, they decided on a course of action. Each of them grabbed a side of the bed and began to pull it out from the wall.

“NO! STOP!”

The Imposter desperately grabbed the bed and tried to hold it in place. But he only had one arm to use, as the other was busy shielding his face. Thus, when Naegi lurched forward, the bed moved with him. As light poured into the space the bed had covered, the Imposter gave up and dove onto his stomach. One arm still over his head, he crawled forward until he hit the room’s corner.

Naegi hesitated. Normally, he’d call after the Imposter, but he didn’t know the Imposter’s name. Just yelling ‘Imposter’ seemed rude.

So, he walked up to the Imposter’s huddled form. The Imposter’s body trembled and . . .was he crying? It certainly sounded like it. Naegi looked down at the mask. Maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea.

Naegi reached for the Imposter’s shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

“ _Don’t look at me!_ ”

There was no longer any doubt that the Imposter was crying. It was a pitiful sight, watching the Imposter try to pull his shirt over his head to hide it. Mikan was hanging back anxiously, knuckles close to her mouth as if she were about to gnaw on them. Naegi crouched down next to the Imposter.

“. . . Your hair kind of reminds me of my sister’s,” Naegi said, rubbing a lock of his black hair between his fingers. “It’s longer than hers and a different colour, but the style’s similar. It’s nice hair.”

The Imposter didn’t answer. Naegi crawled over him, and grabbed the arm hiding his head.

“ _No!_ ”

“Umm, Makoto, maybe we should leave him alone.”

Naegi glanced over his shoulder at Mikan, and shook his head. He gestured for her to stand back. To the Imposter, he said, “Why don’t you want me to see you? It’s just a face, isn’t it? I’ve been looking at those the entire time I’ve been here.”

The Imposter sniffled, and shook his head.

“Would it bother you if I saw it?” Naegi asked. “Wait, that should be the opposite. It must give you despair for me _not_ to see it. That’s why you’re hiding, I bet. You’re getting despair from hiding –”

Naegi, in his rambling, had not noticed how the Imposter had stilled under him. Thus, it was completely unexpected when the Imposter’s body turned violently, throwing him off. Mikan shrieked and tried to dive forward to catch him, but he just ended up smacking into her ankles and sending her tumbling over him. He didn’t have time to apologize before the Imposter was holding his lapels and bringing Naegi’s face right up to his.

“ _Yes!_ ” the Imposter hissed in an unnerving reversal of his previous behaviour. “Look at me! See how unremarkable and forgettable I am? See how much of a nobody I am!”

The Imposter’s red eyes were filled with swirls. Naegi ignored that, and turned his attention to the protruding cheekbones. His gaze slid down the sunken cheeks to the thick tendons stretching out the skin on the Imposter’s neck. He wondered if the Imposter ever looked at his real face in the mirror and if he did, if he saw the same things Naegi saw now.

But now was not the time for those thoughts. That was a problem too large for him to tackle all at once. No, his responsibility was to focus on the problem he could solve, the problem he was born to erase: the despair.

“I’ve never seen a guy’s face that was this skinny,” Naegi said. “It really isn’t a good thing, but it’s not unremarkable either. I’d never forget a face like that.” ( _Even if he wished he could_ ).

The Imposter laughed wildly. “Why does it matter? I have no place. I’m nothing.”

“I’ve never seen anyone that looks like you,” Naegi said. “And that means you’re _unique_.”

The Imposter seemed confused.

“Hmm. . . Your hair’s kind of long,” Naegi said, tilting his head to one side to get a better look. “I don’t see that very often on people around here, at least not tied up or sticking out like Komaeda-kun’s. It sits really nicely, too. Do you put gel on it?”

“. . . No.”

“Oh, that’s unusual!” Naegi said with a chuckle. “Most people’s hair isn’t naturally that neat. You know, I didn’t notice any voice modulators in that mask. You must have a crazy voice range! Can you do female voices?”

“Uh . . .”

“Please?”

“If I must,” the Imposter said, in a voice that sounded like Nevermind’s. “It is easier on my throat to use my regular voice, however.”

“That’s so cool!” Naegi gushed, and he meant it, too. “I’ve never meant _anyone_ who can do voices of both genders. I don’t even think Maizono-san could.”

“What are you . . . What is the point of this?”

“I’m just getting to know you.”

“You . . .! There’s nothing to know!” the Imposter shouted. “There’s nothing. I’m nothing!”

Naegi could sense Mikan getting worked up behind him, so he trudged on. “But that’s obviously not true. I just learned you have great hair, and a really wide vocal range. Plus, you obviously liked food before. That’s why you’re starving yourself for the despair, right?”

“I . . .”

“You do an amazing job at imitating people, so you must be smart,” Naegi said, ticking the facts off his fingers one by one. “You made me that mask in one day, so you must be efficient and hard-working. You didn’t break character all day or let me know you were close to collapsing, so you must be determined. And none of that has anything to do with any of your disguises.”

The Imposter let go of him, only to pull at his own hair.

“So, you see?” Naegi said. “There’s things to know about you. And I’m eager to learn even more.”

The Imposter was muttering to himself. He dragged one hand down his face, covering his eyes.

“Please, can you tell me about yourself?” Naegi asked. “Your _real_ self?”

The middle and pointer finger parted, revealing the red, swirl-less eye underneath. It looked close to tears again. Naegi gently gripped that hand, and began to move it away from the Imposter’s face.

“M-Makoto?”

At the sound of Mikan’s voice, the Imposter squealed and covered his face again. Naegi held back a sigh of annoyance, and then set his focus back on his target.

“You can show her,” he whispered. “It’s just Mikan. You know she wouldn’t try to hurt or make fun of you.”

Against his closed eyelids, the Imposter’s hands balled into fists.

 _Show her for the despair_ , whispered a quiet voice in his mind . . .

He shook the suggestion off. Though saying that would work, it didn’t feel appropriate here. “You trust them, your friends, don’t you? If you can trust me with this, you can definitely trust her because she’s been your friend for a lot longer.”

He wasn’t sure what gave it away, but he guessed now was the time to apply more force. And he was right, for when he started to pry the Imposter’s hands apart, there wasn’t as much resistance as there should be. Bit by bit, his face was revealed.

“Mikan, come here,” Naegi said, trying not to sound too excited. The Imposter leaned away and turned his head as she got nearer, but didn’t shield his face again.

“Umm, who are you being right now?” she asked.

“No, that’s his real face!” Naegi said, as the Imposter cried out in protest. “It’s not a disguise.”

“Oh, umm, that’s good?”

Ah, he could work with that. He turned to the Imposter. “See? Mikan likes your real face, too. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

The Imposter slowly turned to face them. “You’re not disgusted?”

“Are you kidding?” Naegi said. “You know I slept in a dumpster once, right? You should have seen what I looked like after that. . .”

“D-did you ever get examined after that?” Mikan demanded. “Maybe it’s not too late for a tetanus shot.”

“. . . And clearly I did not catch anything while I was down there!” he said loudly. “But yeah, I’ve seen worse.”

“You’re just saying that,” the Imposter said. “You’re trying to spread th-that _hope_ around.”

He shrugged. “So? Maybe I am, but when have I ever lied when I do that?”

That was something that couldn’t be argued with.

“Umm, you look nice,” Mikan said hesitantly, apparently catching on to what Naegi was doing. “B-but you’re very skinny. You should eat more.”

The Imposter didn’t look like he had the energy to keep talking about this, so Naegi decided to end it there. He handed the mask back. “Here. I’ll make you a deal. I won’t tell anyone about what I saw, if you don’t tell them that I know it’s you under that.”

“Resorting to blackmail?” the Imposter said.

“That’s not . . . No, I . . . Fine.” Naegi wilted. “I guess I can’t stop you from talking if you really want to.”

“. . . You would be an absolutely horrendous negotiator,” the Imposter said with that conceit and voice he associated with Togami.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The Imposter carefully took the mask, smoothed out the wrinkles, and then slipped it back over his head. For the first time, Naegi was able to appreciate how flawlessly it concealed the Imposter’s hair (why didn’t he just shave it, he wondered?). The Imposter stood, and a visible change swept over him as he adopted the personality of his mask. Naegi’s stomach churned with distaste.

“N-nurse Tsumiki, could I have another glass of water?” the Imposter asked in his mother’s voice.

“Uh, yes! Of course.” Mikan ran off again. The Imposter swayed when she did, as if that little wake of air was enough to destabilize him. He fell against the wall.

“I do think I need to sit down. It’s been a very eventful day,” the Imposter said, and Naegi had a feeling he wasn’t listening to his mother’s personality there.

Naegi helped him to a bed. Had this occurred earlier, he would have resented behaving like the ‘dutiful son’. However, in the aftermath of the event – of the _secret_ – they now shared, his patience had grown an tremendous amount. It hardly bothered him now to see that thin smile, even knowing that it wasn’t a genuine expression of affection, but a calculated attempt to lure him in.

“How about I give you the rest of the day off?” Naegi said. “I think you need the rest.”

“That would be nice,” the Imposter said. “But are you . . .?”

“It’s fine. Get some sleep.”

Mikan was scrambling back with the water. Naegi waved, put his fingers to his lips, and then headed himself for the exit. He knew the Imposter would be in excellent hands.

Just as he reached for the door, it swung open.

“You’re leaving, already?” Komaeda looked around over his head. “Where’s your mother?”

“I let her off the hook,” Naegi said. “I pushed her too hard.”

“Well, it’s always good to hear that you . . . She hasn’t noticed me yet.”

“Uh, I guess not . . .?”

“Then I guess we can hang out!” Without warning, Komaeda pulled him outside, doors swinging shut behind them.

After he regained his balance, Naegi asked, “Are you and Mikan fighting?”

“We’ve been having disagreements,” Komaeda said vaguely as he led the way down the hall. “Our worldviews are less compatible than I had hoped.”

“I don’t like it when you two fight.”

“I know, but you can’t make everyone like each other. I’m not mad at her though, don’t worry. I worked that off during my walk.”

“. . . Are you mad at me?”

“Because you have an insurmountable faith in Kirigiri-san, and refuse to consider the possibility she could have failed? Of course not.” Komaeda said that in a completely neutral tone and expression. “I was only surprised. Considering your relationship in Hope’s Peak, I found it very ironic.”

“Our . . . what?”

Komaeda stopped. He pivoted around on his heels so that they were face to face. “That’s right, you can’t remember. However, I have very fond memories of my days among the talented crowd. . . You two barely spoke.”

“Kirigiri-san isn’t much of a people person . . .”

“Oh, it wasn’t that. She just hated you.”

“What?” He took a tiny step closer, convinced that he had misheard.

“Maybe that’s too strong a word.” Komaeda sighed, rubbing his chin as he thought hard. “She found you annoying. A burden. A hindrance. Ah, that’s a better description!”

“A hindrance?” Naegi looked down at himself, as if there would be a big, bold-lettered sign spelling that out on his shirt. “No. Kirigiri-san wouldn’t think that. She’s my best friend . . .”

“I’m sure she is,” Komaeda said, “but those were rather extraordinary circumstances you got to know each other in. Didn’t Kirigiri-san say she chose you because you were the least likely to be the mastermind? It only makes sense that in that case you two became allies because she _needed_ you. But nobody was being murdered while you two were in school, so what would have been the motivation to befriend you then?”

“B-because Kirigiri-san’s really cool,” Naegi mumbled, “and she’s nice and . . .”

“Okay, but what did _you_ have to offer? Why would she want to befriend you?” Komaeda asked curiously. “You weren’t Hope back then. Just a regular, ordinary Lucky Student.”

Naegi flinched.

Komaeda clicked his tongue. “I’m being too harsh. You weren’t an ordinary lottery winner. You had quite spectacular bad luck! Boy, that annoyed her. Have an important person visiting campus that you need to talk to? Whoops, Naegi-kun spilled tomato juice on them and they had to leave early. Printing off important documents? Oh dear, Naegi-kun broke the printer this morning! Managed to print them off anyways? Oh no, Naegi-kun walked in the room and now they’re on fire! You were the single most persistent obstacle in her way. If luck was anything but a meaningless talent, you would have been quite spectacular!”

He stumbled back. _No_. That couldn’t be true. He and Kirigiri were friends. They had worked together to solve the school’s mysteries.

. . . Except he _had_ screwed up and lost them those documents from that secret room. And he’d defended Maizono when she’d been the killer and he hadn’t seen that the body in the fifth trial was a lie and allowed that trial to go on. Was there more he was missing? Had he really just made things harder for her?

Komaeda said, “Wouldn’t that be annoying? For this one person to keep getting in your way over and _over_ and he never ever stops? And it’s even worse because he’s not trying to do it on purpose.”

“I didn’t mean to . . .”

“It’s like Togami-kun!” Komaeda said cheerfully. “Togami-kun went to Hope’s Peak so he could network with the future stars of the world. Why would he ever waste time looking at an insignificant, talentless student who only got in because his name was picked out of a hat?”

“Him, too?”

“And you know how prickly Fukawa-san is. When she wasn’t trapped in a school and forced to interact with everyone, you can bet she kept her distance.”

Komaeda suddenly took his cellphone out of his pocket and looked at it.

“Hmm? Looks like I’m being summoned. Sorry, Naegi-kun. We’ll have to hang out later.”

With a carefree leave, Komaeda wandered off. Naegi stayed rooted to the spot.

_Fukawa. . . Togami . . . Kirigiri. . . they didn’t like me?_

He limped back to his room. He stood above the trapdoor, thinking hard while not thinking at all.

“Naegi-kun?” Alter Ego tugged at his pants. “Why are you crying?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi's friends deal with the fallout from Komaeda's latest dickery.


	78. The Evaluation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2017/05/21 edit: I've changed Monomi to Usami due to an excellent point from June.

“I don’t understand.”

“Did Fujisaki-kun ever like me? Or did h-he just pretend to like me because we were in a killing game?” Naegi asked. He sniffed loudly, and curled up underneath Kuma’s chin. Kuma lazily licked him, before chewing on his ahoge.

“Of course, he liked you!” Alter Ego said. “Master liked all of his classmates.”

“Yeah . . . but he liked everyone, so that doesn’t count. It’s not like Kirigiri-san, or Togami-kun. . .”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Alter Ego asked. “Naegi-kun, please, I’m trying to understand, but the input you’re giving me doesn’t match my memory.”

Through tears and a runny nose, Naegi clutched Kuma’s fur and explained to Alter Ego what Komaeda had told him. Alter Ego’s first response was, of course, to deny it all. But Alter Ego hadn’t been alive during those days at Hope’s Peak, and Fujisaki wouldn’t have known the truth while he was programming Alter Ego’s knowledge. Alter Ego didn’t know anything.

“Komaeda-kun still has his memories of when we were in school so he would know, and he’s _right_. I was just a stupid Lucky Student back then. I wasn’t Hope; I was worthless!”

“You were not worthless. None of you were worthless. You were all Master’s dear friends, and I don’t understand how you are reaching these conclusions,” Alter Ego said. “Please stop talking like this. It’s scaring me.”

“You don’t understand. You’ve only known me in that killing game where I became Hope. You don’t know what I was like when I was in school. . .”

Alter Ego said nothing, and slumped over, red eye going dim. Left by his lonesome, Naegi wiped his eyes on Kuma’s fur. He regretted it when he was hit by a smell like wet grass.

That gave Alter Ego just enough time to start up again. Arms crossed and chin tilted upwards, Togami-Alter Ego scoffed and said, “Honestly, would you quit it with this drivel?”

“Stop it,” Naegi said. “You don’t know what Togami-kun was like back then either, so . . .”

“Words cannot describe my disappointment in you,” Kirigiri-Alter Ego said a moment before Oowada-Alter Ego snapped, “So quit it with that bullshit!”

Naegi scowled and turned away.

Alter Ego hobbled closer. Kuma, having never quite grown comfortable with the talking bear-that-was-not-a-bear, shoved him back. Alter Ego merely wobbled back and forth on his feet, and then peered up at Naegi.

“I think you need to call Kirigiri-san,” Alter Ego said.

When Naegi didn’t say anything, Alter Ego took it upon himself to grab the phone, shove it into Naegi’s hand and then lift it so he could see the screen. Only then did Naegi find his fingers starting to move. Beep by beep, they typed out that fateful number.

He held the phone to his ear. His head fell against Kuma, and the fur there effectively blocked the other ear.

“. . . Hello?”

Naegi choked. “K-Kirigiri-san?”

“Naegi-kun? Wait a second please.”

Exactly one second later, Naegi asked, “Should I hang up?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just sending an email. . . There. What can I do for you?”

He sniffled. “Did you hate me?”

There was a long silence. “Could you repeat that?”

“When we went to school together, did you hate me?”

“Why would you . . .? Where is this coming from?”

“When we were in school together at Hope’s Peak – I know you don’t remember – Komaeda-kun told me about how I wrecked all your investigations a-and . . .” He sobbed loudly, and rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I was just a dumb Lucky Student and I’m so sorry!”

“Komaeda told you this? I’m going to ignore everything else you said for a second and ask you a question: why in the world would I have told Komaeda _anything_ about my personal life or investigations? He’s obviously misunderstanding whatever he saw.”

“How can you be sure? He remembers. We don’t.”

“Naegi-kun, we’re not strangers. You know me. Hence, barring the possibility that Enoshima altered our personalities as well as our memories, you know enough about me to have some idea of how I would have behaved when we were in school together.”

He did feel a little better now, but Komaeda’s dire words still echoed in his head. They were sneaky little thing, carving little scars into his brain, and then fleeing into the darkness.

“Just because we became friends in the killing game doesn’t mean we would have been friends before,” Naegi said. “That was an exceptional circumstance.”

On the other end of the phone, Kirigiri sighed. “I wont deny that, but it doesn’t matter. I have faith in you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m sure you didn’t rest until you could count every single one of our classmates as your friends,” Kirigiri said. “Anyone who could cope with Togami-kun’s arrogance would have no trouble befriending someone such as myself.”

“. . . Togami-kun wasn’t my friend, either.”

Kirigiri started to say something, but suddenly stopped. When she spoke again, her voice was distant and he realized she wasn’t talking to him. Somebody else was in the room with her.

“I-I’ll call you back!” Naegi said quickly. He pulled the phone away and reached for the button to end the call –

“Wait!” Kirigiri said that loud enough that he heard it even with the phone not at his ear. “It’s fine. I asked this person to come. Naegi-kun, there’s somebody I would like you to meet. I think she could answer your questions better than I can.”

There was rustling as the phone changed hands. Naegi listened closely, transfixed. Who would Kirigiri want him to meet? Who did she trust enough to meet him?

“Ah, hello! Is this Naegi-kun?” a cheery-sounding, female voice said. There was a strange metallic tone to it that reminded him of Alter Ego.

“Yes?”

“Hello there! I’m Kirigiri-san’s friend. My name is Gekkougahara Miaya, but you can call me Miaya.”

He almost held the phone away from him. “That’s your given name. . . Uh, are you sure?”

“You don’t have to call me that if you don’t want to.”

“N-no, it’s okay. Umm, if it’s okay with you.”

“Yep, yep, fine with me. Should I call you Makoto or Naegi-kun?”

“Makoto’s fine,” he said, not entirely sure why his heart was beginning to race. “Are you with the Future Foundation?”

“I am. I’m so happy to finally meet you! Kirigiri-san’s told me so much about you. Now, I hear you have some questions for me.”

With his free hand, he kneaded Kuma’s chest, restless with anxiety. Kuma himself licked at Naegi’s cheek, liking the taste of the drying tears.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s . . . it’s kind of private.”

“Kirigiri-san says she doesn’t mind,” Gekkougahara said. “But if you’re not comfortable, we don’t have to talk about it.”

He gulped. It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t exactly something he wanted aired over the news. But if Kirigiri said it was okay. . . and Kirigiri herself had brought Gekkougahara here to talk about this, then it couldn’t be bad, right? Kirigiri must want him to tell Gekkougahara the truth.

With that, Naegi began to explain what Komaeda had told him earlier. Gekkougahara listened patiently, make soft sounds of confirmation and approval.

“I see. I understand why you would feel upset about that,” Gekkougahara said. “But, I do think Komaeda-kun made a mistake about one little thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That Kirigiri-san befriended you because she needed you. I don’t think that’s very true at all.”

“But she did need me,” Naegi said. “I was her only ally in the trials.”

“Yes, but you two didn’t need to be friends to work together. I think you would have helped her save the others even if you and Kirigiri-san weren’t friends. I think you would have tried to save them even if nobody else wanted to help you. That’s my theory. What do you think of my theory?”

“Yeah, I would have. They were my friends . . .”

“Okay, so then can we agree that Kirigiri-san didn’t need to befriend you to make you help her.”

“Yes,” he said. “I would have helped her even if she didn’t like me.”

“Okay, now let me ask you something. Why do you think Kirigiri-san let you hang out with her so much?”

“Umm, so we could investigate together,” Naegi said. “She needed someone to carry on her work in case something happened to her.”

“Yes, it was very smart of her to plan for the future. But didn’t you two hang out a lot when there wasn’t a murder to investigate?” When he confirmed that, Gekkougahara said, “But why do you think she let you hang out with her during those times?”

“Because . . . because . . .”

“Could it be . . . that it was for the same reason you hung out with her? Because she liked you as a friend?”

He grimaced. What Gekkougahara was suggesting went against what Komaeda had told him, but . . . maybe they did make sense together. Maybe Kirigiri let him hang out with her at first because of the murders, but then they had actually become friends? Wait, had Komaeda ever said they weren’t _real_ friends during the killing game? He couldn’t remember. It was all a big mess of words and accusations.

“I guess what you said makes sense,” he said. He leaned back into Kuma’s chest and closed his eyes, suddenly tired.

“Okay, so is it possible that Komaeda-kun made a mistake?”

“I . . . guess.” The words, the implications, left him with a sour taste.

“Then maybe he was mistaken about what you were like in Hope’s Peak, too! I can always investigate for you but,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “I think I’m right that you were friends. Kirigiri-san likes to be independent, but that doesn’t mean she wanted to be _alone_.” Gekkougahara’s voice went very loud. “I think Kirigiri-san was waiting a long time for friends like you!”

He could hear Kirigiri saying something, but it was too muffled to tell what.

“Uh oh, don’t tease Kirigiri-san about that!” Gekkougahara said playfully. “She’s being shy again.”

He laughed, trying to imagine the cool, collected Kirigiri being shy. Shortly after, however, his mood soured.

“Maybe me and her really were friends, but what about Togami-kun and Fukawa-san? He thought I was useless . . .”

“I wouldn’t say that. He asked you to help him in the second trial, didn’t he?”

“But that was a trick.”

“But,” Gekkougahara stretched that word out, “he still had to be around you during that time. I don’t think he would have been happy if, say, Hagakure-kun took your place.”

“Oh, he’s not _that_ bad,” Naegi said.

Gekkougahara laughed. “Okay, I believe you. Why don’t you tell me more about yourself, Makoto?”

Talking to Gekkougahara was . . . nice. She listened very patiently, and she never yelled at him or said he was lying. She was easy to talk to, like Asahina but without the occasional outbursts of anger. Before long, he forgot that she was a stranger, or that he had been talking to Kirigiri first. Gekkougahara was there and she was ready to listen to him and talk to him and she never got mad. There were no demands from her. No pressure. No anger.

“Ah, I’m sorry, but it looks like I need to go. Thank you for speaking to me, Makoto. Try not to worry so much; I think you’re doing fine. I hope we get to talk again later!”

“Me, too,” he said shyly. “Bye!”

Still smiling, he put the phone down. He reached up, and rubbed underneath Kuma’s jaw.

“Are you better now?” Alter Ego asked.

“Yeah, I feel great,” Naegi said.

He had thrown his arms up in celebration, and bopped Kuma right on the nose. Not that he could hit hard enough to actually upset the bear, though. Instead, Kuma opened his mouth, and lightly gnawed on Naegi’s fist.

“You can just say if you’re hungry,” Naegi complained, wiping said fist on the floor. “Why don’t we raid the kitchen? I could go for a snack, too.”

By now, Kuma knew quite well what the kitchen was. He huffed in joy, the floor creaking as he rose, and went straight for the stairs.

“Alter Ego, can you . . .?”

“Yes, I have it covered.” Holding the cellphone in one hand, Alter Ego saluted with the other.

“Great, thanks! We’ll be back later. Onwards, Kuma!”

As he squeezed past Kuma to get to the exit, he wondered what Hanamura would say when he broke in riding on a bear.

* * *

The call ended. Kirigiri put the phone down. The speakerphone would have shut off automatically when Naegi hung up, so there was no need to worry about that.

“Well, you’ve spoken to Naegi-kun. What’s your conclusion?” Kirigiri asked, arms crossed.

Only Gekkougahara’s fingers moved as she typed away. It was strange, how expressionless and still the Ultimate Therapist herself was. She would have expected much more personal involvement. Instead, for some reason Kirigiri couldn’t comprehend, Gekkougahara spoke exclusively through that . . . rabbit-fairy princess thing. Apparently, in light of the initial report Kirigiri had given her, Gekkougahara had toggled her rabbit into Child Interaction Mode too, making its behaviour and voice patterns just as ridiculously cutesy as its appearance. She supposed she couldn’t complain too much though; she couldn’t deny that Gekkougahara had a _much_ easier time navigating Naegi and his issues than her ill-fated attempts.

On the screen, the white rabbit waved at her. “You should start using his first name, Kirigiri-san.”

A light blush overtook the Detective’s cheeks. “I didn’t ask you to come here to comment on my personal relationships. I get enough of that from Kizakura-kun.”

“I didn’t say it had anything to do with you.” The rabbit – its name Usami, as Kirigiri had been informed – did a little twirl before sighing fondly. “My, I wonder why Kirigiri-san’s so defensive?”

“I . . .” She gritted her teeth, recognizing that she had walked into that one. (How interesting that Kizakura had tried something similar – they must be gossiping.) “Never mind. If it isn’t about my relationship with him, then why are you telling me this?”

“Because Naegi-kun’s _starved_ for attention,” Usami said. “Didn’t you hear how happy he was to speak to me? He’d be happy if you two could get a little closer.”

“Really, attention?” She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “He always implied he was getting plenty of _that_.”

“But it’s the bad, scary kind,” Usami said, shivering. “No matter how much he tries to tell himself otherwise, he knows he’s in danger there. What Naegi-kun really wants . . . is someone he can share secrets with, lots of hugs and a safe place to sleep at night.”

“I suppose this is a confirmation that he hasn’t gone completely delusional.”

“Oh, Naegi-kun is very sane given his circumstances!” Usami said cheerfully, hopping with joy.

“Really now? Then are you suggesting he’s easily treatable?”

Usami stood there, frozen as her controller thought about it, only to spring back into vibrant life when the typing started anew.

“It’s impossible to make a complete diagnosis based on a phone conversation,” Usami said. “But my initial impression of him is very good. I’ve dealt with much more troublesome patients in the past.”

“What about Iwata-kun’s report? Isn’t Stockholm syndrome difficult to treat?”

Usami’s ears drooped. “Yes, I did see several signs of that. But it is treatable! It may take a while, that’s all. He also seems focused on escape and thinks very positively of the Future Foundation, and that’s unusual for patients suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.”

Kirigiri smiled faintly. “He always manages to surprise.”

“I expect Naegi-kun would respond very well to therapy,” Usami said.

“Very well. Thank you, Gekkougahara-san. I don’t think I need to remind you . . .”

“Kirigiri-san, I wouldn’t have gotten very far as a therapist without patient confidentiality.”

* * *

_Tick._

The room was dark. Curtains were pulled over the window, so that only a puddle of daylight lay near the bottom. Just beyond the curled-up sleeping bag and a small stack of snacks was a small clock that kept steady track of time. In the center of the bare floor, there was a person. Bone-dry, white hair stuck out around his face as he sat crossed-legged with his chin in his hands. Grey eyes were fixed straight ahead on the small, blank screen of the television he had hauled along.

 _Tick_.

Heart hammering within his chest, Komaeda looked back at the clock, engraving the time into his head. The nails of one hand dug into the flesh of the opposite arm. He took a shaky breath, and gnawed at his lower lip.

 _Tick_.

Suddenly, the clock played a little jingle. Komaeda’s muscles shivered in response, though he remained still and silent. In front of him, the TV came to life in a flash of colour. He fixed his eyes on it.

He knew the words. Knew the story. Yet, he could not look away as the reporter onscreen delivered her news. A small picture of the subject appeared in the upper right corner and although he knew every detail, he stared at it anyways. Inside him, a ball of tension coiled tighter and tighter, spreading through his body until his fingers and toes curled up, too.

“And now,” the reporter said, “we go to the scene . . .”

This was always the worst part. He watched anyways, even as something inside him screamed not to. There was always a bit of surreal-ness when he listened to them struggle to explain something they didn’t understand, but he did.

“Authorities say. . .” the reporter said.

If looks could kill . . . surely, that small television wouldn’t have been able to withstand the blow. Chin back in his hands, Komaeda watched and listened and waited.

“. . . a miracle.”

That was all it took.

He chuckled. It was not a laugh of any humour, but a harsh one of scorn and derisiveness that left him with sick aftershocks. Eyes no longer on the screen, he hunched over, still shaking. His chest rose and fell in deliberate motions and his breathing was harsh and heavy, almost like . . . sobs.

Then, it stopped. The reporter kept talking, but Komaeda was no longer shaking. Yet his breathing was becoming even heavier. His hands were on his head, as if struggling to contain something inside.

This time, when he laughed, it lasted longer than a second.

The recording ended, but the damage had already been done. Komaeda was still laughing, sweating as the swirls danced merrily in his eyes. He threw his head back, laughter wild, until it was no longer sufficient to be still. His bones seemed to creak as he forced them into action. His legs uncrossed, his spine straightened, and his arms found purchase on the ground as he rose. He did not stand like an ordinary person, but like some feral, mindless zombie.

 _Hope_ , his instincts croaked.

 _Naegi_ , his mind replaced it with.

( _And deeper inside, something powerful stirred: a feeling that should not accompany thoughts of hope. His fists shook and his skin heated up and he remembered –_ )

It was time.

He pointed his feet towards Naegi’s room, and started to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Komaeda is not in a good mood.


	79. The Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! This is one of the three chapters that inspired this entire story! The second one is the next chapter, and the final one is off in the last arc.

“How was that?”

Komaeda, sprawled out on a table, half-turned over, shrugged with one shoulder. “You’ve gotten very good at those, Naegi-kun. Very passionate.”

“Thank you,” Naegi said.

 _Why don’t you seem impressed?_ Naegi wondered. Usually, Komaeda reacted the same way to his hope eulogies: with that tight-lipped, closed-eyed sigh that one would associate with a prayer in church. Sometimes, Komaeda even pressed his hands together, too. This time though, Komaeda was playing it cool. Maybe he was still a little spooked from Kuma’s behaviour earlier? Kuma had been present when Komaeda first found him but for some reason, the sight of the Luckster had rubbed Kuma the wrong way. He’d become growly and ill-tempered very fast and made these weird popping sounds until Naegi had been forced to flee with Komaeda for somewhere safer. That had been interesting – running from a giant bear –  but somebody’s luck must have kicked in because somehow, they’d lost Kuma.

As Naegi fidgeted in place, wondering what was going on, Komaeda rose. He stretched, and then came over to stand in front of Naegi. Komaeda stared at him.

“. . . Are you trying to imitate Kamukura-kun?” Naegi joked after a sufficient silence.

“No, just thinking,” Komaeda said. “You know what. I think you’re ready.”

“Ready?”

“You didn’t think these eulogies were just for my benefit, did you? No, they’re for you!” Gentle hands landed on his shoulders. “I think it’s time you received the full benefit. It must be tedious having an audience of one.”

Oh boy. Was Komaeda suggesting he should give a hope eulogy to Ultimate Despair? That wouldn’t go over very well.

Komaeda grabbed his hand, and then tugged him out of the room. He walked briskly so that Naegi was on the cusp of jogging to keep up with those longer strides.

“And . . . stop!”

Komaeda stuck his arm out. Naegi was sure Komaeda meant only to stop him, but forgot about the height difference. (In other words, Komaeda probably hadn’t been trying to nail him in the head.) Afterwards, Komaeda moved behind him and placed his hands over Naegi’s eyes. Naegi was . . . getting a little excited. It was like the buildup to a secret birthday party. He heard a door open and strained to hear whatever was inside.

“Can you give me a hint of what’s in there?” Naegi asked as Komaeda nudged him into the room.

“Nope. That would ruin the surprise.”

One word, that one word soured all his expectations. He recalled all at once what Komaeda’s _other_ surprises had been. He remembered that he _hated_ surprises, because Ultimate Despair didn’t –

Before he could protest, or change his mind, or _run_ , Komaeda removed his hands.

The world tilted on its axis.

 “Well? What do you think?” Komaeda hissed into his ear.

The corpse hung in front of him. The limbs were a gruesome red, the sign of flayed flesh that had spent time in a freezer. Only the face had skin, also possessing empty hazel eyes that could no longer close. The head slumped forward toward the ground and the only reason the rest didn’t follow was that rope secured the wrists to a pole on either side of the body, forcing the small, frail form to hang in midair.

“. . . Fu-Fujisaki-kun?”

Komaeda giggled. “You recognise it? Excellent. I was worried the setup wasn’t good enough.”

“Why. . . why would you . . .? even Enoshima wouldn’t. . . “

“Why? For _you_ , of course. They’re the reason you exist, aren’t they? It’s only right they get to hear your lovely hope. I mean.”

. . . They?

He turned his head left.

He fell to his knees.

_Why did he look?_

 “ _Wh-why?_ ”

He didn’t think his heart could twist any tighter than it already was, but it did. Fujisaki hurt to look at, but this one hurt more. Because he had _known_ her, had admired her; Maizono had been his first friend in that godawful game. There had been so, so much blood at her death that wasn’t here now, but he still _saw_ it paint the air around her a throbbing red.

“How is it?” Komaeda asked. “It wasn’t easy setting this up. The smell alone was –”

“ _Why_?”

He wasn’t sure he had spoken that last word aloud until Komaeda answered. “I already told you: it’s for you. They’re the reason you’re here. You mustn’t forget them, what _you_ did to them to bring your hope to life. They gave up their lives for you.”

“No . . .”

This couldn’t be real. Komaeda wouldn’t have . . . even _she_ wouldn’t have gone this far; even _she_ had given them a resting place. Komaeda hadn’t dragged out Maizono’s, Fujisaki’s and Oogami’s bodies. This was his mind making things up; his eyes were still closed, and his imagination had combined the worst of his experiences and vomited the result up. Or he was sleeping. He was safe in his bed, and Kuma or Alter Ego were wondering why he was crying and surely _that_ was why someone was pushing –

But those were fingers, not claws, wrapping around his arms. Komaeda hauled him forward until he was a couple of feet away from her body: Maizono’s body with the cute uniform and the big pink ribbon; Maizono’s body with the legs turned inward sickeningly, as if broken.

“Do you need the paper?” Komaeda asked. “I thought you had it memorized by now.”

Not that. Not here. Not like this. Not in front of _them_.

“Come on, Naegi-kun. They’re your friends, aren’t they? You don’t need to be shy. I’m sure they’re just dying to hear –”

“No!” He wrenched out of Komaeda’s grip and scrambled backwards. “Th-this isn’t right. This isn’t hope!”

“Not yet,” Komaeda said. “That’s your job. You need to take all this despair and make it into hope.”

“I can’t. This is . . . this. . .”

“You’ll deny them now, after everything you did to them?” Komaeda took an aggressive step forward and pointed hard enough in his direction that it almost looked like Komaeda wanted to stab him. “You’d do that to your friends?”

“N-no! None of that is right. It isn’t like that!”

What was that emotion that swept over him: that feeling that turned his heart into a block of lead ready to rip through his insides with the force of gravity? A ball of sandpaper caught in his throat, leaving it raw and red. He saw it all at once – voting for his friends one by one, the last look in their eyes as Enoshima’s trap slammed shut. And he saw _her_. Enoshima loomed in the background, a giant among insects, laughing hysterically as despair spread over the scene in a black mist. She was the cause. She was the murderer. It wasn’t his friends. It wasn’t him. It was despair and he hated _hated **hated her**_ –

“It wasn’t me,” he growled. His mind had stared to fall apart before, but it was piecing itself back together in a way he didn’t recognize.

 “They died for your hope. They died for you. _You_ killed –”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ”

He slammed into Komaeda’s midsection. The two went down hard, and Naegi screamed. His fists rained down towards on the other’s face. He didn’t know if they were making contact, he didn’t _care_ if he was making contact. He just wanted to hurt – he needed to _be_ hurt. Enoshima kept laughing and laughing and he was choking on it.

In his mind, his punches kept going but in the real world, when that knee drove into his chest, it was like Komaeda found his off switch. Komaeda pushed free and up onto his hands and knees. Komaeda’s head bounced a little, and Naegi locked onto the motion like a snake tracking prey and sprung. His throat met Komaeda’s arm and he wheezed. Komaeda’s weight was suddenly on top of him, driving Naegi into the ground. On his side, Naegi clawed and bit at Komaeda’s hoodie until it soaked up the moisture from his mouth.

The hoodie slipped from Komaeda’s body, leaving Naegi grappling with empty air. By the time, he realized that he was on the cusp of scratching himself up, Komaeda was on his feet. That didn’t stop Naegi and only half-standing, he charged again. Komaeda sidestepped and Naegi dug his feet in as he flew past and prepared to spin around –

He slipped.

Something splashed as he went down. Something soaked into his shirt. It couldn’t be blood; blood had a strong stench and he knew what it smelt like. He lifted his wet hand to look at it, and something was wrong with how it sheened, with the colour. He brought it closer and became aware that he could smell something . . .

Butter?

Without meaning to, his wide eyes fell back to Fujisaki. He hung there limply in the background and overlaid, was the memory of Oowada’s last moments, of that execution that had turned him. . . into . . .

Butter?

The liquid soaked into his back. His shirt was already heavy with it and _clinging_ to him. Naegi raised the upper part of his arm off the floor and it _dripped_.

He blinked with such force that the skin around his eyes wrinkled. The butter felt like slime. It felt like a sheet of needles digging into his flesh. But it was also like glue; he couldn’t rip his body off the ground and writhed instead like a newborn baby in its crib. The first sound that came out of his mouth was a moan and as the butter continued to soak in with the knowledge of _what he was laying in_ , he started to howl.

“Get up.”

When Naegi did not, Komaeda grabbed him and pulled him up. Naegi still wasn’t moving so Komaeda hooked his arms underneath his armpits and dragged him forwards out of the puddle.

“Take your shirt off.”

Komaeda ended up helping him. The shirt peeled away from his skin. Komaeda tossed the stained material aside. Naegi reached up, traced the curve of his hair, his finger coming away _wet_ –

Komaeda had already tossed his hoodie aside earlier, so he ended up taking off his shirt. He balled it up, and started wiping. Hair, face, arms, anywhere the _taint_ had touched, Komaeda wiped down. Naegi did not protest. He tried to forget why this was happening. Tried to pretend he hadn’t felt what he did and that his hair wasn’t damp.

Komaeda threw the shirt aside. “Are you done?”

His lower lip trembled.

“Honestly, I thought you had more respect for your friends. But no, you went and smeared him across the ground. Look at the mess you made.”

Just when he thought he was safe, Komaeda wrenched his chin around. He saw the puddle now and a streak of semisolid butter splattered where he had fallen.

“I know it’s just butter, but it’s supposed to be the thought that counts, remember? For you to be so disrespectful . . . What would they say? What would he say? What do you think Kirigiri-san would think?”

“I . . . I didn’t mean to . . .”

“And you’re not even apologizing!” Komaeda said loudly, removing his hands and standing in frustration. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but are you sure they’re your friends? It seems to me that you don’t even like them.”

“N-no, I do! They’re my friends. I . . .”

“Then start acting like it.”

Komaeda shoved him sideways with his foot. Naegi landed on his hands and knees and looked up to see Maizono in her little patch of wall. She did not look peaceful in her final moments.

“You knew her, right? I mean, you knew all of them, but you knew her the best.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Kill someone and don’t get caught – that’s all she knew.” Komaeda squatted down next to him. “She had no idea about the class trials. Ah, she had such faith in you! She trusted you so much. . . that’s why she chose you. She knew you were her friend. She knew she could trust you. Would you have done it? If Maizono-san had survived and Kuwata-kun had not, would you have helped her get away with it?”

Komaeda sounded genuinely curious, but Naegi still reacted as if he had barked the words out. “N-no, I can’t. Everyone was counting on me and –”

“Let’s forget the trial and pretend that Maizono-san was right. What if there was no trial? What if the rest of you wouldn’t have been executed if she got away with it? What would you have done? Would you have helped her?”

“I. . . I-I . . .” His tongue was thick and heavy. It was still murder of a friend, no matter the circumstances. How could he simply answer yes like this? You couldn’t. . . this wasn’t the kind of answer you could come up with without being in that situation. This was a decision that could only be made when the time came.

But when he explained as much, Komaeda frowned and said, “You would turn her in? That’s horrible. You would deny her hope and betray her trust in you?”

“It’s . . . It’s murder! You just can’t kill people –”

“It wouldn’t have brought him back,” Komaeda said. “If you told the truth, all it would have done is condemn Maizono-san to live along the rest of you as a murderer.”

“She isn’t a murderer! It’s not her fault. It was the mastermind. _It’s always the mastermind!_ ”

“But if you had helped her . . . one little lie. . . she could have been free to go. She could have been safe. You would have denied her that and _it wasn’t even her fault_.”

Naegi recoiled upon hearing his own words flung back at him.

Komaeda laughed. “Sorry, Maizono-san, but it looks like you put your hope in the wrong person!”

“Stop. . . that’s not . . . that isn’t what I meant.”

But Komaeda had already stood up and wandered away. Naegi couldn’t help but watch him, twisting at the waist, still able to see Maizono in the corner of his vision.

“Maizono-san was nothing but an failed murderer.” ( _Naegi protested_ ). “There is another murderer I can’t help but admire, however: Oogami-san.” Komaeda rounded the couch that held her body – just as it had at the crime scene – and stood behind the slumped corpse. He put his hands on the couch’s back on either side of her head. “To die for the sake of hope. . . it makes me tingly all over. To die knowing that your death would be used by the Ultimate Hope himself to ascend . . . it must have been wonderful!”

Komaeda was gushing like a schoolchild. He reached down with one hand and wrapped a lock of white hair around his –

“ _Don’t touch her_!”

Naegi ran half the distance on his hands and knees before stumbling to his feet. He reached out, intent on tearing Komaeda’s hand away from his friend. Komaeda moved back at the last moment and he tried to skid to a stop ( _was that a tug on his wrist?_ ), only to fumble the landing and fall forward. Blue came up to meet him.

He whimpered. Slowly, he raised his head, dreading what he’d find.

His face had landed in Oogami’s skirt, while his body had fallen between her legs. He looked up further and he was staring right into that fierce, scarred face. Unlike Maizono, Oogami was at peace in death and that lessened the horror, made it manageable enough that he didn’t lose control right there.

“Look, she’s smiling!”

He didn’t want to look. He tried to push himself back while not touching her, which meant he didn’t have enough weight behind him when Komaeda pushed him forward. Her chin smacked into his forehead, making it throb as Komaeda’s hand slithered underneath his chin and tilted it _up_.

“She looks so happy!”

Naegi didn’t care. He was busy splaying and stretching his fingers, trying to minimize contact with her clothes. His chest, however, remained in full contact, and his spine was curving oddly to try to get the rest of him away.

“Looks how happy she is,” Komaeda said. “She knew she had left her hope in good hands. . . Although, she really should have given that note to you instead. Asahina-san wasn’t the Ultimate Hope, and that nearly ruined everything.”

She _was_ smiling. He remembered seeing that _before_ , too; the confusion as to how she could have gone to her death smiling, at least until he had understood the truth.

“But you were there, and you turned all of Asahina-san’s despair into shining hope! You brought them together under one banner, and made the mastermind resort to dirty tricks. Do you remember that?”

He nodded. “Y-yeah.”

“And you did such a wonderful job. But you had to, didn’t you? Oogami-san died so that none of you would give into despair. She died for hope, and you promised you wouldn’t let it be in vain. Remember that? Do you remember?”

Did he say that? He couldn’t remember. But it sounded right. Oogami had died for them. She’d chosen to kill herself rather than her friends because she . . . because she still had hope. She had gone to her doom trusting that her friends would do the right thing, and . . .and he _had_ promised that, hadn’t he? He’d must have, because he had promised Kirigiri he would carry them with him always and Oogami had left them with hope and he was Hope so he must have because he had to because he was Hope . . .

“Oogami-san was your friend, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You appreciate what she did for you, right?”

“Yes.”

Komaeda locked his head in place, leaving him no choice but to stare up into that scarred face . . .

“Naegi-kun, won’t you tell her thank you?”

“Th-thank . . . thank you,” Naegi echoed. It felt like he wasn’t pronouncing the words right.

“Good boy.” A hand ruffled his hair. “Won’t you tell her what you’re going to do with that hope she gave you?”

“I . . .”

He didn’t say it aloud, but he knew the answer, and it resounded in his mind in an endless chant.

_Spread hope. Spread hope. Spread hope spread hope s p r e a d h o p e_

And as the tempo grew to a fevered pitch, it snapped him back to reality. He wasn’t looking up at Oogami. He was looking up at a corpse. He was speaking to a corpse. He was sitting _in a corpse’s lap_.

He didn’t scream this time. Instead, the pressure went to his legs. He kicked back into Komaeda, hearing a ‘whoof’ as Komaeda hit the ground. His own head hit the ground and it was in that starry haze that he tried to find the door. The scar on his forehead, having never quite healed, hurt although it didn’t appear to have opened. So, he crawled, barely having the will to lift his head, only the slightest idea where he was going –

He froze.

Something had touched the upper part of his back, and his body started to rebel and clench because he knew without looking what it was.

Komaeda crawled in front of him. He beckoned Naegi over. Naegi listened. Komaeda opened his arms, and he crawled up into Komaeda’s lap and wrapped his arms around him because if he was touching Komaeda then he couldn’t be touching anyone else.

“Look behind you,” Komaeda said.

“No.” He buried his face in Komaeda’s shoulder. “I don’t want to look. Don’t make me look.”

“You’ll be fine,” Komaeda murmured. “Turn around.”

Naegi still refused, so with some grunting and awkward movements, Komaeda turned himself around so that when Naegi glanced over his shoulder, Fujisaki’s feet were right there. Then, even though he’d knew what he’d find, the investigative instinct trained inside him followed the leg up to the body. Fujisaki alone had his eyes open in death, and they were wide with horror as if Genocider Shou had gutted him alive.

“His death was painful,” Komaeda said. “Betrayed by the very thing that should have been salvation. Fujisaki-kun had so much hope that you could make it through that motive intact. He had so much hope that he never thought Oowada-kun would be a danger. It’s a shame he had to ask Oowada-kun. But. . . why did he do that again?”

“Don’t,” Naegi croaked. He held Komaeda tighter tighter _tighter_. “Please, don’t.”

“. . . Ah, because you told him to.”

His last ‘don’t’ turned around and stabbed him in the throat.

“Betrayed by hope itself. _Twice_. How terribly unlucky. Maybe Fujisaki-kun was the real Ultimate Lucky Student!”

Naegi began to push away. He got halfway off before Komaeda grabbed him from behind, and pulled Naegi onto his lap. They stared at Fujisaki’s hanging body together.

“Maizono-san died because she trusted you. Fujisaki-kun died because he thought he could defeat the motive. Oogami-san died so that the rest of you could keep fighting. You’re smart, Naegi-kun. You must see the common thread. Maizono-san _hoped_ you would be her ally. Fujisaki-kun _hoped_ you were right about Oowada-kun helping him become stronger. Oogami-san _hoped_ her death would bring peace to the rest of you. They died for hope, _because_ of hope. Naegi-kun . . .”

“ _Stop_. . .”

“They all died because of _you_.”

“ _No, no!_ It’s the mastermind. It’s her fault. It’s her fault! She killed my friends!” He tried to crawl away, but he was trapped in Komaeda’s lap.

“But not alone,” Komaeda said. “You helped.”

“You’re lying! I didn’t kill them! They’ve my friends! I didn’t do it!”

“Tell him.”

Komaeda pointed his chin towards Fujisaki’s face. Empty eyes stared back at him, waiting. Judging. Ghosts filled the room; they were not just of his friends, but also countless strangers who had fallen victim to the madness outside. Their shadows grew and painted the walls, closing in and sinking him into darkness –

“Well, Naegi-kun? Aren’t you going to tell him it wasn’t you? That you didn’t have _anything_ to do with his death?”

“I . . .”

Komaeda squeezed. “ _Well?_ ”

“. . . I can’t.”

With that admission, everything changed. It was like the universe unravelled to reveal its true makeup. It was _them_ : he and Enoshima in their elaborate dance, weaving a fine web as they prepared for their destined showdown. Hope would be born, but in the fires of its creation, others would burn. Their ashes would line the nest of his birth.

“You betrayed them in life. Will Hope betray them in death?”

“N-no.”

“Then tell him, Naegi-kun.” Komaeda jostled him, and his tone was breathy and pinched, “Tell them what they died for! Tell them about hope!”

And Hope began to speak.

It flowed out of him like a current. He could not feel himself speaking the words, but he _was_ and they were resonating within his bones. Komaeda was gasping and panting, on the verge of uncontrollable laughter. Naegi kept talking, and he knew he was talking, and though he could no longer understand, he could feel things inside him shifting. Komaeda nudged him forward and then Naegi was alone, on his knees before the hanging one, a devotee before his god.

“Tell them,” Komaeda was hissing. “Tell all of them.”

The command slithered into his brain and slotted into place. He turned his head left, looked at Maizono, and shuffled forwards on his knees.

“Tell her.”

He did.

Oogami was on the opposite side of the room, and too far away to reach by walking on his knees. Komaeda helped him up, and then guided him over to her. He’d already said The Words twice, and they were electrifying his soul. As he approached the last one, he felt giddy, almost excited to say his words of Hope.

“Alright, Naegi-kun. Go spread hope.”

He spoke. He didn’t need to think. He knew the words. They were engraved into his blood, woven into the bonds of his molecule. This was what the world wanted from him. This is what his friends wanted. They had given their lives to reincarnate into something bigger, greater and he carried them with him **always** and he would never let them down.

“. . . I’ll do it, Oogami-san. I’ll spread hope _._ ” He dropped to his knees in front of her; she, who had given him life. And she was smiling back at him because this was _right, so right._ “You don’t need to be sad. I’ll do it. I’ll bring hope to the world. I’ll spread _so much hope_. I promise. _I promise_!”

Giggling, he reached for her, but she was too far away to reach. Komaeda came up behind him. Lips landed on the back of his neck.

“Naegi-kun . . . you’re _beautiful_.”

Komaeda was beside him and then –

The world had skipped like a record. Because one moment Komaeda was grinning and his eyes were bright with luminous swirls and the next, Naegi could barely see and it was all Komaeda Komaeda _Komaeda_. Komaeda’s fingers on his back and in his hair. Komaeda’s scent in his nose and wrapped around him. Komaeda’s heat against his and Komaeda’s lips against his and he could feel nothing else –

It skipped again. The word spun lazily as he laid on his back. He could faintly see Oogami watching him like a sentinel, still smiling. Then a great shadow blocked out the light and _he_ was there again, and that became Naegi’s entire world as a wet heat attached to his neck. Komaeda was sucking the life out of him and he gasped and squirmed, not understanding why he felt like he was going to scream and if that meant he wanted more or if he wanted Komaeda _away_ –

There was something else rising in the background, another shadow as the mass upon Naegi pressed close and crept up his body. The other shadow grew larger and larger even as more of Naegi’s vision succumbed to the overwhelming presence of _him_ and the tendrils of his mind began to retract into a small space only he could reach –

“Komaeda, _get off him!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. You finally got your Komaegi. I HOPE IT WAS EVERYTHING YOU EVER DREAMED OF GUYS
> 
> If you're curious, the toning down generally involved shenanigans with the bodies. Like using Oogami's body to pin Naegi down after he attacked Komaeda, or sticking his tongue down Naegi's throat while he was in her lap.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> The closest thing we get to a villainous monologue.


	80. The Real Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit it. I'm nervous about this one because it's on par with The Mastermind. In other words, it's either going to work and change the entire story, or it's going to flop and _ruin everything_ (especially because it's changed from its original inception). Let me know what you guys think. If it's not working, I'm willing to work with the current version and see if I can make it work.
> 
> Also, there are certain plot and character twists I've been guarding since the beginning. I don't want to say I've lied to you guys in the comments... buuut it's very possible I did. I know I have definitely played along with misconceptions and introduced some of my own. Why am I telling you this? You'll understand after this chapter because it's going to tear down a lot of things you thought you knew.

_Knock knock._

Tsumiki jumped. She looked around, but she was the only one in her room. The light pink covers fell off her body as she pushed herself up and rubbed her eyes. She looked at the walls; maybe there were rats again, although it hadn’t sounded like them.

The knocks came again. She slipped out of bed, feet sliding into fluffy bear slippers. A glance at the clock told her it was evening, close to eleven. Had there been an emergency? She couldn’t think of another reason for someone to come looking for her at this time. Even Makoto didn’t come by this late.

Yet when she opened the door, it was Makoto she found.

Her hackles rose. Though she was not very . . . No, she shouldn’t be thinking like that. She . . . she was very good at nursing. Yes, and that meant she was astute at sensing patient distress. And Makoto _exuded_ distress. Not that it was very hard to tell. Even an Ultimate Nurse would have known at first glance.

Hands in front of her lips, she bit down on her tongue, unsure what to do. That said. . . she had a vague idea of _who_ might be the cause of the problem. She looked up and down the hall, surprised when nobody else was there.

“Makoto?” she urged.

Makoto sniffed. His eyes were tinged with red, although there was no actual evidence that he had shed tears. He was also, strangely enough, shirtless. That was something she barely saw, and Makoto had certainly never gone walking around like that before.

“Is e-everything okay?” she asked.

His voice was so small she barely heard him.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

* * *

He shut the door behind him. Naegi hadn’t left this room on his own; Naegi hadn’t been able to do anything on his own. He’d been forced to physically pick the boy up, haul him over to the exit, and then toss him outside. Naegi had been able to do the bare minimum and land on his feet, but then he had to walk outside and push several times before Naegi’s legs started working. He knew instinct would take the dazed boy somewhere safe – Tsumiki’s room – so Naegi could be left to his own devices.

He scanned the room. Komaeda was there, on his knees, hands upon them as he stared at the ground. He was just as stunned and comatose as Naegi had been in the initial aftermath of that. . . unpleasantness. Just as Naegi was struggling to deal with what had just happened between them, so was Komaeda. He could say confidently that even though this plan of Komaeda’s had been designed with the grand purpose of hurting Naegi, that last step had not been foreseen.

“Komaeda, do you understand yet? Have you unravelled the mystery of your own desires?”

Komaeda was silent. He touched his lips, glassy-eyed with shock. “I . . . I don’t . . .”

Kamukura watched him. Although Komaeda’s voice was soft and gentle, he could still extract the hidden emotions beneath: confusion, incredulity, uncertainty . . . _fear_.

Finally.

“I suppose I should congratulate you,” Kamukura said. “You seem to be well on track to achieving your goals.”

Komaeda twitched. He slowly turned his head.

“So, even you see it. I’m just an ordinary person, but you used to be the Ultimate Hope. For you to acknowledge Naegi-kun’s hope –”

“How is this relevant?”

Komaeda frowned. “I thought we were talking about my goals?”

“We are.”

“Then Naegi-kun’s hope. . .”

“Is irrelevant, and has been for some time.”

“. . . I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Komaeda said. “I can assure you that when I asked you to help me find him, I was only thinking about –”

“I know that,” Kamukura said. “In the immediate aftermath of her demise, you were thinking solely about hope. However, there’s been a shift in your priorities since.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, you must be mistaken –”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snapped the words out, using them like a physical blow to force Komaeda to yield. “I know you, Komaeda. I’ve known your story since the day we met. A young rich boy, living with his parents in the city. There’s a dog. He goes to a nice school with friends and gets good grades. He has a happy beginning.”

Komaeda shrugged. “An ordinary, unspectacular life. Honestly, Kamukura-kun, only the money was unusual and it wasn’t that important.”

Kamukura kept going. “Then, it happens. The dog dies. That’s okay. It’s a dog. That’s what they do. But that was only the beginning. Strange things keep happening, things that cannot be controlled. Eventually, you decide on a cause for it: _luck_. You try to control this luck. You create this theory of balances and karma.”

“Well, that’s what it is,” Komaeda said, shrugging. “Good luck is followed by an equal amount of bad luck. It’s a cycle that comes out even.”

“. . . Except it doesn’t. Your life didn’t come out equal. It kept getting _worse_.”

Komaeda went very still.

Kamukura spoke. “The plane crashes and you’re the sole survivor. You’re diagnosed. Your friends die one by one. You find a new school with new classmates, but they hate you. When one of them finally reaches out, she dies too and the false Hope you were leaning on abandons you. In his absence, your classmates go crazy and you destroy the world together. And through it all, you keep waiting. You wait for the weights on your balance to come out even.”

He paced the floor, carving a lazy circle around Komaeda. “What came first: the theory, or the consolation? The little boy, crying over his dog’s grave; his parents and friends tell him that the pain will pass. Things will get better. . . And just when it seems to, the next death happens. He cries again. He hears the same words. He waits again. It happens _again_. He’s told the same things over and over: things will get better; there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. So, he waits for his dues to be paid, he waits for the resolution to the cycle. But it doesn’t come. Things get worse, and he clings harder to the lies he was told. He keeps waiting, keeps _hoping_ for the future he was promised because he’s told as long as he keeps hoping, it will come someday. Somewhere along the way, the two became intertwined. Hope becomes the light in the tunnel. It was useful, isn’t it? Hope is limitless. No matter how bad things are, hope can remedy it. You can keep wishing for it without ever having to admit the truth: that the scales have even been equal, and they will never be.”

He stopped, and looked over his shoulder at Komaeda. “Am I close?”

“You. . . you don’t understand,” Komaeda said. His fists trembled at his side. “You think you understand my luck, but you don’t. Your luck has never affected your life the way mine has. You don’t know _anything_.”

“Then prove me wrong,” Kamukura said. He crouched right in front of Komaeda. “Look me in the eye and tell me that inheriting that fortune was worth losing your parents.”

Komaeda’s pupils dilated.

Kamukura said, “You alone in Ultimate Despair lack red eyes. You alone can function without needing to spread despair every moment of the day. Haven’t you ever wondered why? You saw the same video they did and thus, should be subjected to the same effects. Yet is it clear that you have been affected the least. You don’t _enjoy_ despair like they do. Why is that?”

“Why bother asking?” Komaeda asked. “You’re going to tell me anyways.”

“It’s fine to say you don’t know,” Kamukura said with a roll of his eyes. “The answer’s clear if you think about it correctly. The despair video was meant to throw those who see it into despair. Isn’t it obvious in what case it should falter?”

To his credit, Komaeda was quite intelligent, and Kamukura knew that Komaeda understood the implications immediately.

“No . . . No, you’re wrong. That can’t be right . . .!”

“. . . The video would be less effective if the person who watched it had already fallen into despair,” Kamukura said.

“That’s a lie. _Stop lying!_ ” Komaeda screeched. His tangled hair started breaking away as he scratched at it.

“You had nothing to live for, and that is why you are so careless with your life. That is why you think so little of your existence. Yearning for hope, living for hope. . . and then Kamukura came along, a false hope, but the hope you had been waiting for . . . and you helped destroy it. How could that not affect you?”

“I didn’t mean to. . .”

“I’ve wondered about that,” Kamukura said. “I had assumed you didn’t mean to hurt me the way you did, but now that I’ve seen you with Naegi-kun, I wonder. They say misery loves company. . . Was I your first attempt?”

Komaeda was muttering something to himself too quietly to be heard. Kamukura watched him, eyes glinting.

“Komaeda, that you have lived for so long past the time the doctors gave you . . . you don’t see that as good luck, do you?”

Komaeda was quiet. He was hunched over with his stomach almost touching the ground. His hands were clamped over his ears.

“You tumbled into despair a long time ago,” Kamukura said softly. “In a way, that saved you. It numbed the worst of the despair video so that you didn’t turn out like your classmates, or like Enoshima herself. You could bury the effects of the video, keep preaching and praying for hope without knowing you were already in despair . . .

“Until _it_ happened.” Kamukura peeled Komaeda’s hands away from his ears. “Hope – _real_ hope – took on a physical form in Naegi Makoto. You kidnapped him, because you felt you must. Because it was your _destiny_. It wasn’t even hope that first drew you to him. It was how easily and completely he forgave Asahina, how he didn’t falter in his love for her even after she tried to murder them all. To the lonely boy with no one to love or to love him back, that must have been alluring. If he could forgive her so effortlessly, maybe he could forgive you for the terrible things you’ve done. Maybe he could love you, just as he loved them. After all, Naegi Makoto loves _everyone_.”

“He . . .” Komaeda trembled. “I just wanted . . .”

He spoke right into Komaeda’s ear. “Somebody to love you?”

He stood up before Komaeda hit him. “It was a perfect setup. Naegi was capable of loving anyone. Naegi’s luck saved him from death – it could protect him from your luck, too. The world had already ended and your class was the most powerful organization in the world, so there would be nobody to stop you from taking him. But what clinched it was when he became the Ultimate Hope. That was your green light. He was _perfect,_ ready to be moulded. Somebody as perfect as him could only be created by your luck. In your eyes, he was meant for you.”

“He . . . he is,” Komaeda said weakly. “He _must_ be, because . . .”

“Because your luck has almost ceased to be since he arrived? You haven’t had any major, life-changing incidences in a while.”

Komaeda giggled. “Yes. My luck, it’s . . . bearable. He’s the answer. _He’s the end of the cycle!_ It was all leading to –”

“How arrogant.”

Komaeda blinked.

“You are not the first to try and understand Naegi Makoto’s luck,” Kamukura said. “Hope’s Peak tried. Enoshima tried. _I_ tried. The only result of those attempts were two rules. One: it can’t be predicted. Two: Naegi Makoto’s bad luck is so pervasive that it overrides the luck of others.”

“. . . What are you saying?”

Kamukura said, “The reason your luck has been quiet is not because Naegi is the culmination of the cycle. It’s because the less extreme your luck is, the more convinced you are that he is meant to be yours. Do you understand? Your extreme luck has ceased because _it’s bad luck for him_.”

“N-no . . .” Komaeda’s pupils were so wide that barely any iris remained.

“Of course, you never knew that rule. Instead, you thought you finally had an answer for why your fortune had always been tilted in the wrong direction: because the good luck you were missing had gone into creating him. You had lost everything because your luck was creating someone who would become everything you needed. That’s why you think you own him. You thought he was the missing part of your life, the one that would finally make everything worth it. Of course you treated him like royalty when you first found him; of course you’ve protected him and guarded him. He was meant to be your saviour from your miserable life. All you had to do was shape him into the perfect companion, to raise him like a farmer raises a turkey for thanksgiving, and wait.

“But then the unthinkable happened. He rejected you. You realized he thought you were a monster. He didn’t love you. He didn’t even _like_ you. And with that, you had to face the truth: the story you created, the happy ending . . . it was a delusion. But you weren’t ready to give up on your dream. You _couldn’t_ give him up; you couldn’t bear to admit to yourself that everything you had lived through was for nothing.”

“No!” Komaeda’s voice cracked. He was shaking, still hunched over but with his arms wrapped around himself. “It’s not like that. I’m not like that . . .!”

“. . . So, you punished him. You hurt him because he hurt you. Because he isn’t allowed to make that choice. His duty is to sate you. His destiny is to be under your thumb because you don’t want to be alone. You need him to fill the void that your family, your friends, your _dog_ left behind. You need him to make your miserable life worth it, because luck took everything from you _and you need someone to answer for that_. You need to punish him for your misery, and make sure he comes crawling back so you can do it again _and again_.”

“ _NO!_ _It’s not true_!” Komaeda lunged forward, grabbing at Kamukura’s pants. “I love him! He’s the only thing that matters anymore.”

“But that’s just it,” Kamukura said, his voice so cold that Komaeda released him. “You don’t love him. You never did. Your affection for him is based on the idea that he gives your life meaning. You only love him because you feel that you have no other choice, and that’s why he needs to be as dependent on you as you are on him.”

The swirls had arisen. Yet even though Komaeda should be basking in his despair, he was heaving and snivelling. His body was clearly at odds with itself, shivering while radiating heat. Kamukura knelt down in front of Komaeda again, tipped his chin up with one finger to make sure Komaeda heard him.

“When Naegi called you a monster, is that when you remembered? Is that when you finally lost control and could no longer suppress what you’ve been struggling to conceal for so long?”

Komaeda was shaking his head frantically; it was a last-ditch effort to preserve the illusion he had fed handsomely for so long. It was almost done. Just a little more . . .

“Komaeda, you don’t love Naegi Makoto . . . you _hate_ him.”

“SHUT UP!”

“You hate him: boring, insignificant, little Naegi Makoto who mirrored you and your hellish talent but suffered none of the downfalls. Who cares that you tripped down the stairs when your parents are still alive? What does it matter that his left shoe keeps falling off when there are so many people willing to wait for him to catch up? Naegi was living the life you could only dream of, stealing the classmates that should have been _your_ friends and you hated him for it.”

“I know where you’re going with this,” Komaeda wheezed, starting to rise. “That’s why you said his hope was irrelevant. You think I set this up because I was trying to hurt him.” He was up on one knee now. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you –”

“Then explain this!” Kamukura ripped the Fujisaki mask off the body, and threw at Komaeda. “Why dress these corpses up as his friends, Komaeda? Why now? You’ve had this planned for weeks, but you chose today. Why?”

“I . . .”

“Because you want him to _hurt_. You want him to be in as much pain as you are. Komaeda . . . I know this is the day your parents died.”

The mask slipped between Komaeda’s clammy fingers. He opened his mouth, but only a wheeze – a groan- escaped.

Kamukura knelt down before him, and held his gaze before lowering the death sentence. “Did you finally get him to tell you how he contacted the Future Foundation? Did you even remember to ask?”

For a few seconds, Komaeda struggled. Then, his face scrunched up.

“You like hurting him,” Kamukura murmured. “Your luck created him, and that makes him _personally_ responsible for all the pain you’ve suffered. He’s your outlet for all the rage and grief you’ve suppressed all these years. You like using him and manipulating him because it feels like you’re finally in control of your life, and you can get revenge for everything it’s put you through. He’s your personal teddy bear that you punch and beat, but cry yourself to sleep with at night.”

“He’s . . . he’s _Hope_ ,” Komaeda said, as if that justified anything. “His talent is to cure despair. That’s his _job_.”

“And no one deserves that hope more than you, right?”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! I LOST _EVERYTHING!_ ” Komaeda screeched. “You don’t know what it’s like to wake up every day and to know they’re all dead just because _you existed_. And he . . . he gets everything. He doesn’t even have to try. Him and his _perfect_ family and friends and he didn’t have to sacrifice _anything,_ and all I get are the crumbs he drops and I don’t even get that because he’d rather be with _them instead of me_!”

“You introduced yourself by kidnapping him.”

“You helped!”

“. . . I know,” Kamukura said quietly.

“You think you understand,” Komaeda muttered, turning dark eyes on Kamukura. “You don’t. You never will. How can you: you don’t feel _anything_. You can dissect my brain all you want but you’ll _never_ really understand –”

“Is that what you think?” Kamukura said. “She was my friend, Komaeda.”

Komaeda wheezed and gripped his head –

“. . . And you were too, once.”

Fingers twitching, poised as if to pull at his hair again, Komaeda looked up at him.

Kamukura said, “It’s time to wake up and face the truth. You don’t want his hope; you want to scoop out everything inside him, then glaze over it with a layer of ‘hope’ so you continue living your fantasy.”

The high-pitched noise that escaped Komaeda was like a kettle.

Kamukura said, “Listen to me and answer this: Nagito, _what did you_ _want from him_?”

“I wanted . . . I don’t want him to leave me alone again. I don't want it to hurt anymore . . .”

“ _And?_ ”

“. . . I wanted him to suffer.”

There was nothing more to say. As the meaning of those words sunk in, Komaeda’s whole body heaved as if about to explode, before the last strings of his resistance snapped. He pitched forward, an awful wail coming from his throat. Fat tears splashed upon the ground, and there was no stemming the tide. Komaeda wasn’t even trying to hold anything back. The swirls were there but this despair was so intense, so deep that there was no enjoyment. Kamukura watched the breakdown silently, knowing Komaeda would not hear anything else he tried to say.

Face shadowed, Kamukura headed for the door. The door shut behind him, leaving only Komaeda with the bitter fruits of his latest scheme. Komaeda made no effort to go after Kamukura. Instead, his body gave out under him and he fell onto his side. Without saying a word, Komaeda curled up and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly surprised that no one ever pointed out the lack of Komaeda extreme luck shenanigans in this story.
> 
> But yeah, there you guys have it. That's his motive. Mainly that he wants Naegi to love him, but he also wants Naegi to _pay_ for everything that's happened to him. He's possessive as fuck because he legitimately thought he had a divine right to Naegi. He wanted to drag Naegi to the brink of despair, but keep him from falling off the edge because he doesn't want Naegi to enjoy it. He wants Naegi's hope because he's desperate to be happy again and he doesn't know _how_.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> A quieter one to calm things down.


	81. The Eye of the Storm

It was warm when he woke. A pressure in his bladder, the same one that had woken him up, told him that he needed to get up sooner versus later. He ignored it, and brought his knees closer to his chest to suppress the feeling. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to _ever_ get up. He wanted to stay here where it was warm and safe, and there were no corpses or dead friends or . . . _other things_ to worry about. He wanted to stay here where he knew who the body curled up against his belonged to, and there was nothing to see except the darkness.

Mikan, however, wasn’t feeling the same way. She was moving and unwrapping herself from around him, and he bit down on his lip and stayed silent because he didn’t want to wake up. A cloud of cold air pushed its way between him and the blanket as it lifted with Mikan’s rising body. Naegi tried desperately to force himself back into that dreamless state of unconsciousness.

It was for naught. Mikan began to poke at his back, mumbling words meant to wake him. When she pulled down the covers completely and started to roll him onto his back, he knew she wasn’t giving up until he was actually ‘awake’. His eyes creaked open; he flinched at the light.

“Umm, I’m sorry for waking you up, b-but there’s only half an hour before breakfast!”

Yes, that was right. Come hell or high water, Naegi Makoto must always be present at meals or there would be a price to pay. He didn’t say anything to Mikan, just robotically went through his morning routine. Although, he failed at even that, and Mikan ended up tackling his hair with a brush afterwards.

“I-is everything okay?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Oh . . .” Satisfied with his hair, she set the brush down. She glanced at the wall, then the ground, then anything that wasn’t him before asking, “What happened last night?”

“Nothing,” he said dully.

“But you . . . You seemed upset yesterday.”

“It’s not important,” he said. He stood and began leading the way out of Mikan’s room. “Don’t worry about it.”

He turned the knob and opened the door . . .

Mikan stepped in front of him, and pushed it shut again. Hands on the wood to brace herself, she spun around to face him.

“I th-think you need to tell me!” she said. Her eyes were closed and her neck sunken into her shoulders, but she didn’t budge when he tried to open it again. “Something bad happened last night, a-and you need to tell me!”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Naegi said.

“N-no, you’re lying. Th-there is something.”

He sighed. “Mikan, please move.”

“Not until you tell me!” Her eyes shot open. Her arms sprawled out against the door, as if someone was pushing from the other side.

Naegi held her gaze. His mind ran over the edges of her command, before letting it slip away. He took a step back, turning his head away in a blatant refusal. Now that he wasn’t so close to the door, Mikan was comfortable enough that she didn’t need to press her back against it.

“Makoto –”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

“But I think you should,” she said. “If something b-bad happened, then you. . . “

“ _I don’t want to talk about it!_ ” he snapped, and he cursed under his breath when his eyes filled with stupid tears.

Mikan reeled back. “Okay, I’m s-sorry! I’ll stop asking!”

She did stop, but the damage was done. The memory crept up from behind, before pouncing and sinking its fangs in. As he walked past Mikan and out of the room, he touched his neck where the ghost of Komaeda’s red-hot lips lingered. What had that been? He didn’t think it was supposed to be a one-time thing; Komaeda had kissed him platonically before, and it had been nothing like _that_. Were they dating now? His breathing hitched, becoming short and shallow. Did Komaeda expect him to start kissing back? Was he going to have to hold hands with him? Cuddle with him?

The more he thought about it, the tighter his sanity was stretched. He wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t know how to be in a relationship, let alone one with _Komaeda_. He knew Komaeda would give him hints and help him out, but what happened when they were in front of people and Komaeda couldn’t tell him what to do? ( _Was someone speaking to him?_ ) What if he did something wrong and embarrassed Komaeda and got him mad? Was he more responsible for his mistakes now that they were dating? Would the punishments be _worse_?

He latched onto the mass of fur next to him, and buried his face in it. The wet-grass smell permeated his mouth and nose, but was not quite as successful at filing his mind. He gripped harder; the skin was loose, and twisted a bit in his hands.

Someone was rubbing his back. He opened his eyes, and closed them again when they were immediately poked by fur. Wait. Why was there fur here again? He leaned his head back, opened his eyes again, and jumped when he realized he was clinging to Kuma. He looked up blearily. Mikan was there, naturally. Some distance behind her, Kuzuryu and Pekoyama were watching the proceedings warily. Tanaka was also present, and he was the one rubbing Naegi’s back.

“What’s going on?” he asked. He recognized he was in a hallway, but couldn’t recall how he had gotten her.

“. . . I think you had a panic attack,” Mikan mumbled.

“Oh.” That was embarrassing.

“Makoto, are you sure you don’t want to . . .?”

“I’m fine,” he said shortly. “We’re going to be late.”

Tanaka ruffled his hair, snapped his fingers and started leading Kuma away.

In a way, he was glad he had that first attack. It left him primed and wary so that when Mikan started opening the door to the dining room and the next attack started to rise, he stomped it into the ground. For a distraction, he turned to his appearance. He should have spent more time fixing his hair. Mikan had done the best she could, but it probably wasn’t enough. He was going to look like a slob and Komaeda would be embarrassed and so angry . . .

The door opened. Naegi scanned both sides of the long table.

Komaeda wasn’t there.

Naegi looked up at Mikan uncertainly. Without Komaeda here, he wasn’t sure where he should sit. Mikan, thankfully, had no similar qualms. She led him by the hand to a couple of seats near the center. Naegi uneasily noticed that there would be no room for Komaeda to join them when he arrived.

He tugged on Mikan’s sleeve. “Mikan, I don’t think we should sit here. There’s not enough room for Komaeda-kun.”

He tilted his head to one side, a sudden thought hitting him. Should he start using Komaeda’s first name now?

Mikan stared at her empty setting. “Th-there’s lots of room for Komaeda-kun.”

“Yes, but not next to us!”

Mikan flinched. “I-I know, b-but . . .”

“We should sit somewhere else!”

“B-but. . . I don’t think . . .”

“He’s not coming.”

Naegi hadn’t realized how much of the table had been listening to their conversation until nearly every head turned towards Kamukura. Kamukura sat near the edge of the group, looking so bored that Naegi was surprised that he hadn’t put his feet on the table and tuned them all out.

“Kamukura-kun?”

Kamukura glanced at him. “You won’t see Komaeda today.”

Oh. Well, that was good. It gave him more time to figure out what he should say when they met. He wished he had some of Fukawa’s novels so he would know how to behave.

Nothing interesting happened that breakfast. Afterwards, he clung to Mikan for a while, but when she kept prodding about what had happened between him and Komaeda, he had to shake her off. That left him wandering the halls, lonely, but too strangely afraid to seek anyone out.

“Hold on, I’m coming!”

Without a reason, he ducked behind the last corner and pressed himself against the wall. In the corridor he just vacated, Koizumi came running out of her room. He peeked just in time to see her and Mioda take off together. He walked into the hallway.

Koizumi’s door hadn’t closed all the way. He approached it, intending to fix that. However, when his attention wandered to that crack, to the bare floor he knew lay inside, he paused. Without really thinking about the consequences, he lifted his hand and pushed. The door swung open; light poured out from behind him and into the room. It sliced through the nest of blankets that was Koizumi’s bed, stopping just before it reached the other side.

A small part of him asked what he was doing. The much larger part urged him forward, until he stood in the center of the room. He looked at he walls covered in despair. It should repel him. In a way, it did – it was _disgusting_. Yet it didn’t chase him away. He remained rooted to the spot, soaking in the sight as a hot thirst built up in the back of his throat.

_Hope . . ._

He shivered in anticipation. Of what, he wasn’t quite sure, but his body knew. It was trembling and waves of goosebumps rode up his skin as his mouth went dry. He stepped forward and grabbed one a photo, nearly plucking it off the wall. He held it so hard it began to crease from the pressure.

_Spread . . . hope . . ._

He looked around again, at this filthy nest of this despair. His thought turned from despair to thoughts of cleansing. He could fix this; he knew he could! He could get rid of this terrible despair, excise it from her life like a surgeon removing a tumour. It would be . . . good.

He had never lapsed into autopilot for as long as he did now, nor had he done so with such deliberateness. His feet took him to the kitchen; his hands sorted through drawer after drawer until they found what he needed. His brain, both asleep and dangerously calculating, navigated him past Hanamura and took him back to Koizumi’s room. To his dazed self, it was like he had been standing in Koizumi’s room and a lighter had teleported into his hand. He held it out in front of him like a priest presenting a holy object to his flock.

His eyes fixed on that picture he had grabbed earlier. He stepped forward.

He could do this. He could destroy the despair. And in the ashes of its defeat, surely hope would grow. True, Koizumi wouldn’t be able to use her room for a while after this, but it wasn’t like there was much inside. And it was for Hope. That alone made it worth the price.

He flicked the lighter on. The flame swayed slightly from side to side, hypnotising. He tilted it downwards, and brought the photo’s corner up to match –

“Naegi-kun?”

The lighter slipped from his grasp. The fall was all it took to wipe the small flame out. Naegi grunted in frustration; he spun around, and squinted in the direction of the door. A tall figure stood there, closing the door behind her as she stepped inside.

“What are you doing?” Pekoyama asked, and not all that nicely.

He hesitated, but then remembered that Pekoyama was a friend. “I’m just getting rid of some despair. Do you want to help?”

Assuming she would say yes, he bent down and picked the lighter up. The flame returned, and he –

Pekoyama grabbed his wrist.

“Stop,” she said.

He frowned at her. “I’m just destroying the despair. I’m not going to try to burn the whole place down or anything.”

“I know, but this isn’t the way to go about it,” Pekoyama said. Her grip tightened until it was just on the cusp of being painful. “Let go of the lighter.”

“But . . .”

“Now.”

He could feel his ahoge drooping as he obeyed. Pekoyama caught the lighter before it hit the ground, and stuffed it into her pocket. She released him, and headed for the door.

“. . . I don’t understand,” Naegi said. “These photos are her despair. Why wouldn’t you want me to get rid of them? I thought you liked hope.”

Her back to him, one hand on the doorknob, Pekoyama sighed.

“. . . You sound like Komaeda-kun.”

Naegi blinked. “Well, he loves hope, too. It isn’t that surprising.”

“No, it’s . . . What I mean to say is that he once tried something very similar.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. If Komaeda had done it, then that meant it was a good thing to do, right? That only made it more baffling that Pekoyama had stopped him.

“Come outside. It would be unwise to be caught in here,” Pekoyama told him.

She held the door open, leaving him with no choice but to listen. When the door shut, she put a hand on the small of his back and began leading him away. Ever the one to be efficient, her explanation started then.

“It was a long time ago, before the Tragedy but after Nanami-san had passed. The same day she was announced dead, Kamukura-kun disappeared from our class. Hope’s Peak claimed that he was recovering from . . . whatever they thought Nanami-san had tried to do to him.” She tossed her head like an angry bull, the corner of her lip curling in disgust. “He returned eventually, but when he did, he was cold and aloof again. I am not saying he was very friendly with us before Nanami-san died but looking back, in the final weeks leading up to her death, I think he was trying to reach out to us. Komaeda-kun especially was taken with him.”

By this point, they were a safe distance away from Koizumi’s room. Pekoyama stopped, and continued to speak. “I only have rumours and what I witnessed to go on from here, but apparently Kamukura-kun had been hiding mementos of his time with Nanami-san from the school’s authorities. As for what happened next . . . I can only imagine that Komaeda-kun thought his actions would help Kamukura-kun move on. Perhaps he had even thought that they would become friends again once he had. Regardless, Komaeda-kun managed to find Kamukura-kun’s stash . . . And he burned it all. The next morning, Kamukura-kun tried to kill him. We separated them in time, but Kamukura-kun disappeared afterwards. The next time anyone saw him. . . he was leading the Reserve Course in a massive riot.”

Pekoyama asked him, “Do you see what I am saying? Like you, Komaeda-kun thought an action like this would cure despair. Instead, it only made thing worse. Despair is unpredictable, even to someone like you.”

“But if I can’t do anything, then how can I spread hope?” Naegi cried.

“By continuing to do what you have already done,” Pekoyama said. “Your past strategy has been sufficient. There is no need to escalate further. Stop trying to be Komaeda-kun, and just be yourself.”

He looked away. What he had been doing didn’t feel like it was enough. He’d only really helped Mikan. That was one; a failing grade!

“What happened to you?” Pekoyama asked him. “You’ve been unbalanced ever since this morning.”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he said automatically.

She stared at him.

“You’re getting much better at this,” she murmured.

“What do you mean?”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it again without speaking, the faintest lines of distress in her face.

He shifted comfortably. “Have you seen Komaeda-kun?”

She squinted at him. “No, I haven’t. Naegi-kun, go . . . lie down, and think about what you’ve been doing.”

With that, she dismissed him. It made him feel empty, purposeless, but he wasn’t willing to go back to Koizumi’s room after she had scolded him. He stuffed his hands in his pants’ pocket, and shuffled off, wondering what to do with himself.

A shadow moved in the corner of his sight. He looked over; the Imposter, dressed as Togami again, was walking down a different hall.

Naegi watched him.

He ran after him.

(Pekoyama, after all, had told him to continue what he had started.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that. That might be the last slow chapter until the end of this story.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Ultimate Despair gets a wake-up call.


	82. The True Self

“I can’t . . . This is insane. It’s crazy. I can’t do this!”

“Hey, take it easy.” Naegi’s voice and words, even his body language was gentle, as if he were wrangling a skittish horse. He held one hand out in a gesture meant to calm as he focused on his own peace and benign intentions, hoping it would be contagious. The Imposter cowered before him, acting more like Fukawa than Togami.

“I can’t do this,” the Imposter muttered. “It’s suicide.”

“I didn’t care,” Naegi said firmly, “and neither did Mikan. Why would any of them care?”

“That’s you and _Tsumiki_ ,” he said. “You two are too kind to care. But the others . . . Saionji, Kuzuryu, Soda, they’ll care. They’ll . . .”

“If they say anything mean to you, I’ll tell them off,” Naegi said. “You don’t have to talk to them. Just walk through. See if anyone cares.”

The Imposter took a shuddering breath. Naegi sympathized; for someone who had hid his identity for so long, this would be a big step. Everyone was in there – it was dinner, after all. Part of him wondered if he should have taken this a little slower, but he _knew_ the Imposter could do this. He knew that if the Imposter acted, their friends wouldn’t let them down.

“Let’s do it together,” Naegi suggested. “One, two, three . . .”

He reached up and grabbed the Imposter’s mask just as the Imposter grabbed it. The Imposter bowed his head and together, they slipped off his defences. Despite the massive role it had played in the Imposter’s life, Naegi thought the mask looked insignificant as it lay crumpled in the Imposter’s hands.

He took the mask from the Imposter. “Ready?”

“No.” The Imposter raised a shaking hand to his hair, as if worried it wasn’t neat enough.

“We can wait,” Naegi said. “We can wait as long as it takes.”

He wondered if the Imposter was still channeling Togami, for he seemed to flinch at that implication of weakness. The Imposter did not speak, but instead smoothed out his dress shirt – which wasn’t wrinkled at all – and then laid his hands on the door. He put no weight on them, leaving the doors closed as he struggled to muster his courage.

Then, he pushed the doors open.

He stood stock-still in the center of the threshold, drawing a few curious looks, but nothing more. Naegi sighed, and then trudged past him, setting the example. The Imposter followed timidly behind him, almost breathing down his neck. It was a good (and bad) thing Komaeda wasn’t present, because the Imposter took the seat he usually would.

Across from them, Soda was chomping away. Like everyone else, he didn’t seem to think the Imposter’s timid behaviour was odd – they probably thought he was imitating the owner of his new ‘mask’. After a couple of minutes though, Soda put his chopsticks down and addressed them directly.

“So, who’s that?” Soda asked, crumbs falling out of his mouth.

The Imposter stiffened. “I . . .”

“Nobody,” Naegi answered for him. “It’s original.”

Soda laughed. “Couldn’t find another face you liked, huh? I get it. Say, I’ve been thinking actually, I wanna make some robots that look really cool and human, so could you whip me up a couple of masks?”

“I suppose,” the Imposter said after a pause.

Soda gave him a thumbs-up. “Sweet!”

Truthfully, Naegi hadn’t expected Soda to catch on to what the Imposter had really meant. That was fine. They would wait for next time when the Imposter was feeling a little bolder –

“W-wait.”

“Huh?” Both Soda _and_ Naegi did a doubletake.

“That wasn’t what Naegi meant,” the Imposter said quickly. “It’s not original. It’s _real_.”

“You got real hair for it? Doesn’t that stuff rot?” Soda asked.

“No, this,” the Imposter put his hand on his own cheek, “it’s _real_.”

“Uh . . .” Soda edged away from the table, and the Imposter by extension. “I mean if you like wearing real people’s skin. . . that’s kind of weird. Did you borrow Tanaka’s –”

At that moment, Tanaka hit Soda over the head. Tanaka rolled his eyes, and then began a series of elaborate hand gestures that included tugging at his own face as he tried to tell Soda what the Imposter was really saying.

“. . . You’re saying the Imposter made a deal with the devil to get some new faces for his mask?” Soda said.

On the other side of Tanaka, Saionji groaned. “No, you dummy! He means that the Imposter isn’t wearing a mask.”

Saionji returned to eating.

Half a second later, everyone (including her) realized what she had said.

“Wh-what? For real?”

“Where’s my camera? Don’t tell me I didn’t bring my camera!”

“Ibuki is sensing a disturbance in the force!”

“The fuck? Peko, get ‘em out the way so I can see!”

 “Ah, how I’ve dreamt of this day, although I had hoped that the setting would be more intimate.”

Within seconds, Ultimate Despair had swarmed the Imposter. They cooed and awed, poking at his cheeks and tugging at his hair sneakily just to make sure he was telling the truth. The Imposter was pressing back into his chair, pupils dilated and Naegi knew even before Mikan tried to get people away that the Imposter was on the verge of a panic attack. He joined in, but even he and Mikan together couldn’t contain the excitement that had been let out of its bottle.

“Okay, everyone MOVE BACK!”

Nidai’s thunderous voice did what he and Mikan could not. The pure volume stunned Ultimate Despair into stepping back. Nidai stroke forward, all pride and alpha-male.

“You’re scaring him,” Nidai said. “We’ve got to stay calm even though THIS IS THE MOST EXCITING THING THAT’S HAPPENED ALL WEEK!”

“Hell yeah!” Owari cheered.

And they were off again. But at least instead of crowding the Imposter, they were bouncing in place and squealing. The Imposter for his part, didn’t look like he knew what to do.

“You don’t think it’s disgusting?” he said.

“Of course not,” Nevermind said with a smile. “Were it not so skinny, your face would be almost as average as Makoto’s.”

“Yeah, so I don’t see why everyone’s making a big deal,” Saionji scoffed, as if she hadn’t been trying to peek a moment before.

“Your hair’s a lot longer than I had imagined,” Koizumi said. Quickly, cheeks flushed as if afraid she had insulted him, she added, “But it sits nicely! Very photogenic.”

“You’ve wondered what my real face looks like?” the Imposter said, stunned.

“Duh!” Mioda said. “Everyone has! It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries, along with Should Pineapple Go on Pizzas, What Makes Makoto-Chan’s Ahoge Straight, and Why are Teruteru-chan’s Eyes So Weird.”

“Uh, just to put it out there, I don’t know why it’s like this either,” Naegi said, poking at his ahoge.

Hollow-eyed, the Imposter muttered. “Then all this time . . . all this fear. . . for nothing. All along I could have . . .”

He slumped over, face turning towards the table and out of sight. The Imposter’s neck tightened, making the already visible veins stick out more.

Then, his hands slammed on the table.

“Yes. This is my face. This is me!” the Imposter rose as he spoke, spine uncurling. “This is my true self!”

Nevermind clapped politely. Mioda and Nidai’s eyes lit up and they instantly hijacked Nevermind’s claps with their own loud clapping and cheers. Owari joined in a second later, followed by Soda and the four of them made enough ruckus that Nevermind stopped mid-clap.

(“Soda-kun liked my idea!” a starry-eyed Nevermind gasped.)

“Thank you.” The Imposter pushed away from the table. Shakily, like a musician who had just won the grand prize at a prestigious concert, he began to pass through his admiring crowd. “This is who I really am.”

Koizumi snapped a picture. For a second, it seemed to undo all of the Imposter’s progress. But then the tension in his face slackened and instead, he waved in her direction like a celebrity.

“So, what’s your actual name?” Kuzuryu demanded.

Everything screeched to a stop.

“I don’t know,” the Imposter admitted. “I don’t have one.”

Silence.

“Bullshit!” Kuzuryu said, slamming his fist down. “We can’t go around calling you ‘That Guy Who Likes Wearing Masks’ for the rest of our lives.”

“Can’t you just pick a name and get it over with?” Owari asked.

“Bwahahaha! I have an excellent idea! We can hold a decathlon and whoever gets the most points can name him!” Nidai said.

“That’s stupid!” Soda snapped. “That just means you or Owari gets to choose the name.”

“That’s also bullshit!” Kuzuryu snapped. “I would get to name him. You hear that, Peko? I’m ordering you to kick their asses!”

“Hey, he’s not a dog!” Koizumi said, hands on her hips. “You can’t just choose his name for him!”

Naegi cringed as the fighting grew. On the other hand, the Imposter embraced it as if they were a cheering crowd. He was grinning from ear to ear, looking this way and that as he struggled to keep track of all that was happening. Meanwhile, Mioda found her way through the crowd and hopped over.

“Ooo, you have such pretty eyes!” Mioda chirped. “Ibuki thought about dying her hair that kind of green, but it didn’t match her toes.”

Kamukura and Mikan’s heads snapped around –

“Thank you,” the Imposter said. “Your eyes are nice, too.”

“Eee, Ibuki’s affection meter just went up!”

The Imposter smiled –

His knees buckled.

He caught himself on the table. With a shaky smile and laugh, he straightened up again . . .

And he collapsed.

Just like that.

Without a word, without a chance to protect himself, the Imposter had crumbled to the ground. It was so unexpected that there was a long moment of silence.

Then, chaos.

Mikan surged through the crowd. Pekoyama and Nevermind, having rushed over, cleared out of the way once they saw the Nurse approaching. Mikan jabbed her finger into the Imposter’s pulse point and they waited in agonizing silence.

“He needs to go to the infirmary!” Mikan shouted.

Nidai vaulted over the table, and threw the Imposter over his shoulder. He went straight for the doors, barreling through them, and the rest of the room followed quickly followed.

* * *

It took an hour for Mikan to emerge from the infirmary. The Imposter was not with her. A crowd of worried Despairs instantly attacked her, and Mikan’s soft voice wasn’t loud enough to be heard over any of them. Thankfully, Nevermind used her royal voice to calm the masses, leaving Mikan with enough space to breath. Mikan cleared her throat, stalled a little while, and then delivered the payload.

“H-he’s still alive!”

Someone groaned.

“We know that,” Kuzuryu said. “We want to know what the hell is wrong with him!”

“Umm, based on my initial examination . . .” Naegi met Mikan’s eyes, but she quickly looked away. “He must have been very excited about what happened, and that made him burn more energy than usual . . .”

“Just spit it out already,” Owari said.

“. . . A blackout caused by low blood sugar and extreme malnutrition. He needs to rest.”

Ultimate Despair muttered to each other. Naegi could sense the conflict: the Imposter clearly was unwell, but it was caused by the actions he took for _despair_. How could they possibly prevent this in the future?

“Let us know when he wakes,” Kuzuryu muttered. He tromped off, Pekoyama behind him. One by one, the other members of Despair wandered off, some of them glancing behind towards the infirmary mournfully.

“Can I see?” Naegi asked.

Mikan had no objections, so he walked in and stood by the Imposter’s bedside. It was similar to when the Imposter had been disguised as his mother and had needed to rest, only this time there were IV lines going into his arm. He looked up questioningly at Mikan who mumbled something about how the Imposter needed nutrition.

He laid his hand on the Imposter’s arm. Of all the times to happen . . . what rotten luck that it would be when the Imposter was among so much hope. And what was that about his eyes? Naegi couldn’t help but pry an eyelid open, and look for himself. Huh. He was pretty sure the Imposter didn’t have green eyes when he first removed that mask.

Still, the colour of his eyes didn’t change the fact that he was lying in this bed. Naegi couldn’t help but link the two times he had seen the Imposter like this, and wonder if pushing the Imposter earlier led to . . .

“It’s not your fault.”

Both he and Mikan turned around.

“What happened between you and the Imposter had no bearing on this,” Kamukura said as he approached them. “It would have happened regardless.”

“But now?” Naegi said. “That’s an awfully big coincidence.”

“It’s not a coincidence,” Kamukura said. “It just doesn’t have to do with the previous incidence. Humans need nourishment to function and while we may survive for a time without food, eventually the body will give in. Despair, however, allows one to surpass the body’s usual limits.”

“You mean . . .”

Kamukura nodded. “Yes. Until now, the Imposter sustained himself on the will granted to him by despair. Without it, he does not have the energy to keep going.”

Naegi frowned. “I should have waited . . .”

“No. He would have kept starving himself. If you had waited too long, eventually, he may have simply perished on the spot.”

“W-we shouldn’t talk about that!” Mikan said. She made an attempt to cover Naegi’s ears. “He’s going to be fine!”

“It’s alright.” Naegi waved her off. “Thank you, Kamukura-kun.”

Kamukura left. Naegi stayed by the Imposter’s side for a while. Soda and Hanamura dropped by at some point, leaving a few things behind that belonged to the Imposter. Then, Mikan reminded him that he hadn’t been able to finish his meal and reluctantly, he shuffled out of the room and returned to the dining room.

When he opened the doors, the scene transfixed him. It was notably subdued, with none of that raw excitement that had existed before. However, that wasn’t what caught his attention. What did was the silhouette in the corner of the room, salivating as she watched her classmates stuff themselves. Owari, too, starved herself for despair. She and the Imposter were in the same place.

He made his decision quickly. He ran back outside, and rooted through rooms until he found paper. One pencil later, he was ready. He stormed back into the dining room with his little homemade sign, and leapt on the table.

Kuzuryu stared at him, and looked like he was going to simply give up and go back to bed. “Naegi, what are you doing?”

Naegi set his jaw.

* * *

“Hey, Tsumiki! You heard the news yet?”

Tsumiki looked up from the unconscious Imposter. “N-news?”

“About Naegi,” Kuzuryu said. He was surrounded by the others. “He’s gone on a hunger strike.”

There was a silence as she absorbed that and then . . .

“Oh, so he ended up doing it.”

“Yeah.” Kuzuryu stretched and rolled his eyes. “I was beginning to think we set up that contingency plan for nothing. Komaeda’s still missing, so we were going to just jump ahead to Plan B.”

“You want me to rough him up a bit first?” Nidai asked.

“A black eye would certainly lend weight to our threat,” Nevermind said. “However, do remember that man has been a prisoner for a long time and it is unlikely he could withstand a proper beating.”

“Just a light beating, got it!” Nidai said.

“Umm, I’m just curious, but what are Makoto’s demands?” Mikan asked.

“He says he’s not gonna eat until I do,” Owari said.

“Yeah.” Soda laughed nervously. “I thought he’d wait until something more important came along.”

Kuzuryu said, “Anyways, we’re giving you a heads up. Just act normal at dinner and . . . better yet, keep your mouth shut and let me and Sonia do all the threatening –”

Nevermind spoke up, “ _Negotiating._ ”

“Yeah, that too.”

With that, Ultimate Despair – except for Mikan and her patient – turned to leave. They got halfway there before Mikan ran after them, shouting.

“Something wrong?” Nevermind asked.

“Umm, I was j-just thinking . . . What if we don’t go with Plan B?”

“You have a better plan?” Koizumi asked. “Or did you find Komaeda?”

“Neither, I was just, umm . . .” Mikan took a moment, and then she straightened up. “What if Owari-san eats something so Makoto doesn’t have a reason to strike?”

Stunned silence.

“I can’t do that!” Owari shouted. “It’s like . . . not despairful! It’s stupid.”

“It doesn’t have to be a lot!” Tsumiki said desperately. “Just a bite. You could –”

“Not happening,” Owari said flatly. “I bet you’re just trying to make Junior like you better than Komaeda.”

“N-no, I . . .”

“I’m starting to get pissed off,” Owari said. “Say, Old Man, can I join you for some light beating of the prisoner?”

Most of Ultimate Despair had resumed their walk towards the door, convinced the argument was done. After all, Owari had bluntly told Tsumiki no. Owari joined arms with Nidai, and they marched with chins high –

“N-no!”

Tsumiki lunged, and latched onto Owari’s free arm.

“Owari-san, you need to eat!” she cried. “You’ve starved yourself for so long that you have no fat left; I don’t know how you have any muscle left!”

Owari looked like she was about to scold or slap her, but the Gymnast hesitated once she saw Tsumiki’s tears.

“You need food!” Tsumiki said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, everyone does! You’re so skinny and not eating and . . . You need to listen to Makoto!”

“You don’t get it,” Owari said. “You get despair from dissecting people and stuff. You’ve never experience the kind of despair I –”

“Stop!” Mikan shrieked. Still clinging to Owari with one arm, she pointed at the still Imposter. “You’re like him! You haven’t eaten for so long that your body can no longer support you and . . . Owari-san, you’re _dying_.”

By now, the other members of Ultimate Despair had wandered back. Upon hearing Mikan’s dire last word, they exchanged looks. Owari was busy trying to pry Tsumiki off her.

“Look, if I die, then it’s fine. It’s for despair and all!” Owari drooled, eyes filled with swirls.

Tsumiki protested, but it seemed Owari was done listening. She pushed the Nurse away and turned around –

Nidai put his hands on her shoulders and stopped her.

Nidai slowly said, “Guys . . . I think we should listen to Tsumiki-san.”

Owari gaped at him. “But . . .”

“You’re no use to Despair dead,” Nidai said. “And . . . and I think there should be lines none of us should cross. Watching a friend die is one of them.”

“But it’s despair!”

Unable to think of anything else, Owari turned to her classmates for help. However, to her dismay, more of them were muttering agreement and nodding than supporting her.

“Makoto’s demands are rather harmless,” Nevermind said. “It would allow us to save our contingency plan for more drastic times.”

“Are you guys serious?” Owari said. “This is nuts. There’s no way I’ll . . . _Hey!_ ”

Owari ripped away from Tsumiki and rubbed her neck where the tiny wound was. Tsumiki grimaced, the needle still in her hand.

Owari growled. “I’m going to beat you t-to a . . .”

She trailed off. She raised an arm, and her punch only made it halfway to Tsumiki before her legs gave way. Nidai quickly caught Owari, and then stared at Tsumiki.

“P-put her in a bed,” Tsumiki mumbled. “I’ll give her fluids a-and nutrients and you can bring Makoto to see so he ends his strike.”

Everyone was staring at her in shock. Even when Nidai got around to dropping Owari in a bed, he was staring at Tsumiki in shock. Maybe that was why everyone was so quick to scamper off.

All except one.

Pekoyama stepped forward. “Tsumiki-san, you. . .”

“I-I’m sorry!” she cried. “But I had to.”

“I never expected you to use force against one of us,” Pekoyama said.

“I-it’s not force,” Tsumiki said. “I-I want to help her!”

“But she told you no, and you . . . You refused.”

“I had to,” Mikan whimpered. “She needed help and sh-she wasn’t accepting it and sometimes . . . That I did wasn’t bad. M-medicine tastes bad, too, but they still need to take it. Sometimes, you need to do bad things so they can get better.”

For a moment, Pekoyama’s eyes widened. “. . . I think I understand. Tsumiki-san, I would like to ask you something: did something happen to Naegi-kun?”

“I-I . . . yes, but I don’t know what. He’s refusing to tell me.”

“Yes. He’s getting worse, isn’t he? He has been, for a long time. At this rate, I am unsure . . .”

“We sh-shouldn’t gossip about him. That’s mean!”

Pekoyama paused. “Very well. Thank you for taking care of Owari-san. I must return to my master, now.”

Pekoyama did mean what she said, but she didn’t end up seeking out Kuzuryu as soon as she meant to. She started out that way, but then she stumbled across Naegi. He looked like he was about to start biting his nails and consider his recent behaviour, she couldn’t help be concerned.

“Naegi-kun, what are you doing?”

He turned around. His eyes were bright. “Pekoyama-san! I’m just looking for Komaeda-kun. You don’t know where he is, do you?”

“That is the thirteenth time I have heard you ask that question this morning.”

“I . . . I just really need to find him.”

In regular circumstances, that answer would be concerning. In this circumstance, when Naegi had that wild look in his eyes, it was the wail of a warning siren. She eyed him closely, and said, “I don’t know where he is, nor did I have plans to look for him. If you can tell me _why_ it’s so important, I may reconsider that.”

“It’s . . . it’s just . . .”

“You can tell me,” she said and she prayed he would. Naegi did seem as though he was dying to tell somebody, but on the other hand, he had a history of being very tight-lipped when it came to his secrets.

“There’s something really important that we need to discuss!”

“Something that can only be discussed with him?”

“Yes, because it’s about our relationship . . .”

Naegi suddenly stopped talking. His cheeks went a light red.

“Your relationship,” she repeated blankly.

“We . . . we kissed.”

And everything the world’s stability was built on tumbled down.

Oblivious to her mounting horror, Naegi went on, “We kissed a couple of days ago, and I haven’t seen him since. I need to see him so we can talk about what we do next. . . Do you think he’s avoiding me because I was a bad kisser? I’ve never dated before. I don’t know how to do any of that stuff or how to behave or what I’m supposed to say . . .”

He was hyperventilating. She knew she should do something, should grab his shoulders or something, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t his fault. None of this was his fault, but she couldn’t help it. The image of him in a relationship repulsed her and by extension, he repulsed her at that moment. She could only stare as Naegi struggled and managed to get control of himself.

“Pekoyama-san, do you think you can help teach me?”

What.

“W-we don’t have to tell Kuzuryu-kun!” Naegi said. “It’ll be our secret. We can go to my room and we’ll just kiss until I get good at it–”

“ _No_!” She took a _big_ step back.

“It’s just kissing! We won’t go any further!”

He was begging. He was actually _begging_. Begging her to make out with him so that he could go and please _Komaeda_.

_Naegi . . . what have we done to you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two chapters left in this arc. I'm flying to another country after Wednesday's update, so there'll be about a week's hiatus. Thus, I'm considering updating on Tuesday and Thursday this week so that you get the end of this arc before the break. Thoughts?
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> It's called The Traitor.  
> There's a traitor guys.


	83. The Traitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is full of lying liars and deceit and y'all need to remember that.

In regular circumstances, the hum of the machine would be comforting. A steady thumping accompanied it as wet fabric was drawn up one side of the laundromat’s interior, and then was brought back to the bottom by gravity. The sight wasn’t much; just a heap spinning and falling. Not that Naegi watched that closely in the first place.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed,” Alter Ego said.

Naegi said nothing. He curled up tighter, and brought his legs even closer to his chest.

“It’s alright, Naegi-kun,” Alter Ego said. “It’s just once. It’s an accident.”

Naegi squeezed his eyes shut, wishing Alter Ego would leave him alone.

Alter Ego, realizing he wasn’t helping but not knowing _why_ he wasn’t, tried to comfort him one last time. “Incontinence is a normal reaction to a change in the environment or high levels of stress.”

That had been the very last thing Naegi wanted to hear. He didn’t need a reminder of what had woken him up. He squeezed his thighs together; although he had rinsed off in the shower, he still felt that cold wetness between them.

“Naegi-kun . . .”

“Stop . . .” Naegi said hoarsely. “Stop talking, please.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

The two of them waited in silence. The good news – the only good news – was that it was very early in the morning and no one else seemed to be about. Hell, he didn’t even know if Ultimate Despair did their own laundry or if they got servants to do it for them. If one of them did show up however . . . he wasn’t sure he could hide it. He didn’t feel like he had enough energy for the quick thinking that deceiving Despair called for.

He put his head in his hands. He was a mess. He could feel his hair sticking out everywhere and he was pretty sure that in his haste to clean up, he had put his shirt on backwards. Sure, he could fix it in a few seconds, but . . . he didn’t have the will to.

He released a shuddering breath. Alter Ego watched him anxiously, and patted his back.

“Don’t be sad,” Alter Ego said. “Everything will be okay. You don’t need to feel despair –”

“What did you say _?_ ”

Alter Ego backed away as Naegi raised his head to look him in the eye.

“Are you going to repeat that, Alter Ego?” Naegi said lowly. Quietly.

“I-I think I said that wrong,” Alter Ego said. “I just wanted you to know you shouldn’t worry . . .”

“That’s not what you said,” Naegi said. “You were accusing me of _despairing_ , right?”

“No, I wasn’t!”

Naegi stood. He towered above Alter Ego. “I am _not_ one of them! I am not part of Ultimate Despair. I am _Hope_. Do you get that?”

“Naegi-kun, why are you . . .?”

That was not the correct answer. The only correct answer was: ‘Yes, you are.’ He half-groaned, half-shrieked in frustration, stomping his heel.

“Look, just get out of here!” Naegi snapped.

“But . . .”

“Just _go!_ ”

Had Alter Ego not stumbled away then, Naegi might have kicked him to get him going. Alter Ego scurried for the exit, glancing over his shoulder a couple of times, and then left Naegi alone. Half a minute later, the high wore off and Naegi was left shocked and guilty at his own actions; at least until he remembered what Alter Ego had said.

 _Alter Ego’s a robot. He’s not like us. He can’t feel_ real _hope. He doesn’t get it and that’s why . . . That’s how he could **dare** to say something like that._

The unfairness of that accusation came back and he was furious all over again. How could anyone say that about him, after the good he’d done? The only person who could be that crass was . . . was Enoshima! His saliva tasted sour as he thought about her.

He needed to take a walk. He glanced back at his laundry one last time, half-afraid it would suddenly teleport in front of Komaeda and tell him what Naegi had done. Then, he shuffled out into the halls. He thought about visiting Iwata, but he wasn’t in the mood for company. Lost in his head, he was oblivious to the world. Which meant the hand on his shoulder came out of nowhere.

“Pekoyama-san! I didn’t know you were awake.”

She didn’t answer. Her red eyes squinted into the darkness over Naegi’s shoulder, and then she checked behind her as well.

“Come with me.”

She grabbed his hand and nearly dragged him down the hall. He had to jog to keep up. Her other hand was on the pommel of her sword, and she kept looking behind them and peering into the shadows. Naegi tried to ask – tried a few times, actually – where they were going, but Pekoyama did not answer him. That said, he still had a general sense where they were going.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Naegi said after a pause. “If they find me here, I’ll be in so much trouble . . .”

“You will not need to worry about that,” Pekoyama said. “Trust me.”

Although Naegi knew his way around enough to know the area they were in, but it was still a shock when the gaping mouth of the front entrance came into view. He nearly dove into a dark corner to hide, scared of being caught. Pekoyama looked like she was about to roll her eyes.

“It’s not Friday,” Naegi muttered to himself. “Are we having another firework show or something?”

“Naegi-kun, can you drive?”

He blinked. “Uh, no?”

“That’s unfortunate,” she said. “You will have to learn quickly.”

“Why . . .?”

He stopped. Before him lay a silver line. On one side was shadow and safety; the other side was gray, and _outside_.

Pekoyama passed over the line without a care. “This way.”

He stuck close to her, nearly clinging to her skirt. He wondered if that’s why it took so long for a Monokuma to spot him and step out of the darkness. Luminous red eye fixed on him, it droned a hair-rising warning and to Naegi, it actually sounded _mad_.

Pekoyama put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s with me.”

There was a quiet whirring as the Monokuma focused on Pekoyama and validated her presence. Accepting her words, it turned around –

Pekoyama’s sword plunged through its head.

“Pekoyama-san! What are you doing?”

With ease, Pekoyama withdrew her sword, creating a rainfall of metal and wire from the Monokuma’s gaping wound. It fell to the ground and didn’t move.

“No witnesses,” she said coldly. “Follow me.”

It was just a Monokuma, but the sheer unexpectedness and unnecessarily flavour to the ambush disturbed him. He’d expect that from Owari, or Saionji or even Soda sometimes, but not the eerily stoic Pekoyama.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“My job,” Pekoyama said as she hauled him along, “is to obey my Young Master and protect the members of Ultimate Despair. Over the last couple of days, we have reached a point where I can no longer be in denial . . .”

Her red eyes seemed to glow as she looked him in the eye.

“Naegi Makoto, you are not safe here.”

“Then are you . . . Are you taking me home?”

“No. But I can point you in the right direction.”

His first reaction was to slap his own face, convinced he was dreaming and that would wake him up. The second thing he did was tug on Pekoyama’s braid because surely this was one of the Imposter’s masks and it was all an elaborate prank. But when Pekoyama hissed in pain and slapped his hand away, he knew it was really her. And if it was her and this wasn’t some kind of trick or test, then that meant . . .

“You’re helping me run away?”

“I am _ensuring your safety_ –”

He couldn’t help it. He sprung, and wrapped his arms around her. His eyes watered, but his constant mutters of ‘Thank you, thank you’ stemmed the flow. Pekoyama put her hands awkwardly on his shoulders, but after a few moments, she squeezed them.

“I’ll tell Kirigiri-san and the others,” he told her. “I’ll tell them about everything you’ve done for me!”

“I’d rather you not,” Pekoyama said. “The last thing I need is this getting back to Yukizome-sensei.”

“Who?”

“One of our agents,” she said dismissively. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

Could it be? Had she just revealed to him who . . .? Well, either way, he’d warn Kirigiri about this Yukizome once she found him.

Then, two things hit him.

“Pekoyama-san, we need to go back! My friend, Iwata-kun, he’s . . .”

“We can’t,” Pekoyama said. “This is dangerous enough as is. We would only be asking for failure If we brought someone like him along.”

“But -!”

“No. It must be this way.”

 _Iwata_ . . . They hadn’t been outside long; they were just entering the city ruins, but Despair’s headquarters – the building he had spent the last chunk of his life inside – seemed so far away. Somewhere in there, Iwata rotted away in his cell and he . . . couldn’t help. Pekoyama wouldn’t let him, and he needed her. He . . . he was the Ultimate Hope. The world hinged on his hope. Iwata had even said once that he needed to focus on getting himself out first.

The other thought that hit him was that of Alter Ego. Pekoyama didn’t know about the robot and he bet that even if she did, she wouldn’t let him go back for Alter Ego. He comforted himself with best-case scenarios: Alter Ego would overhear that he had left, and then simply walk out as easily as he had walked in.

He wasn’t sure if it was because of the situation or because he had grown used to them, but the ruins were beautiful tonight. They rose up in carved, abstract forms, gathering starlight and glowing silver and grey. Rubble was stacked and overlaid each other in elaborate structures that stretched and bloomed like flowers. Each section contained countless lines and grooves that he could have spent all night studying, and still not seen every detail.

“Are you going to get in trouble tomorrow?” he asked.

“I have no intention of telling anybody how you escaped,” Pekoyama said.

“I know, but they’re going to start investigating.”

“Most likely, Kuzuryu-kun wouldn’t even think to ask my opinion, let along consider that I would be the culprit.”

That was true. “Okay. As you as you don’t –”

“Naegi-kun!”

“ _Argh!_ ”

Naegi opened his eyes. He was . . . things looked strange. Wait. Why was he upside down? A pressure, a strong pressure was wrapped around his ankle as he swung back and forth in midair.

“Pekoyama-san!”

“Don’t move!”

There was a swish. Something long and sharp soared through the air, passing over his feet. The pressure on his ankle disappeared and the wind whistled as he was suddenly falling. The ground rushed up to meet his face – but Pekoyama was there first and his nose was an inch away from the ground when she stopped him. She flipped him right side up, and set him on the ground.

Dizzy, Naegi rubbed his head. He picked at the rope looped around his ankle.

“It appears you stepped into a snare,” Pekoyama said as she walked back from where she had retrieved her sword. “I have no idea why someone would set one here.”

Naegi laughed.

“What?” she said, looking around as if Naegi had warned her of an attack.

“It’s just . . . I just remembered!” he said happily as he freed himself from the rope’s remains. “Kamukura-kun told me that Komaeda-kun set up a snare in case I ever got out. He said that as long as that snare was around, there was no way I could escape because I was guaranteed to trip it. He was right!”

He laughed again. Pekoyama gave him a faint smile.

“He usually is,” Pekoyama said.

“Yeah, but it looks like he didn’t predict this!”

Pekoyama put her hand on his shoulder.

. . . And then shoved him back just as her sword flashed. Its tip caught in the handle of an object, throwing it upwards where Pekoyama rammed it with her sword’s pommel. The object whizzed through the air towards a patch of shadows . . .

Where it was deftly deflected, shooting upwards diagonally and clipping the edge of what had once been a window pane.

“Who’s there?” Pekoyama demanded, sword pointed towards the shadowy patch.

Something gleamed; it looked like a straight line, like a sword. Naegi looked at Pekoyama anxiously. She had one arm out, keeping him behind her while she held the sword in the other.

“Uh, hi! I’m Naegi Makoto, the Ultimate Hope –”

“Naegi-kun!” Pekoyama hissed between her teeth.

Naegi whispered back, “If they’re an enemy of Ultimate Despair, then they’re part of the Future Foundation, right? Which means they’re on my side.”

“Not necessarily,” she said.

Before could settle their disagreement, the mysterious figure came out of the shadows. The first thing Naegi saw was a pipe, still gleaming with light, held loosely in one hand. The next thing was the silhouette, starting at the head and spreading downwards as the figure approached. With those steps came detail, starting with the edge of the nose, spreading to the brow and then trickling down the slopes of the face. The hair, given its dark colour, was one of the last things they saw, but the most telling.

Naegi laughed.

“I guess Kamukura-kun predicted this after all,” Naegi said, a light blush to his cheeks. He waited for Pekoyama to sheathe her sword, for Kamukura to drop the pipe.

They did not.

“I wonder. . .” Kamukura said softly. “What would _he_ say if he heard about this?”

Pekoyama stiffened.

“Would that be the final straw?” Kamukura mused aloud. “Is that what would finally push him over the edge and make him cut your strings? What do you think?”

“That’s rhetorical, right?” Naegi said nervously.

Kamukura stepped forward. “Pekoyama-san, perhaps you should have checked the security cameras one last time.”

She jerked.

In a carrying whisper, Kamukura said, “You have one chance to turn around. Take it, and I will pretend this didn’t happen.”

Pekoyama took a step back, smacking into Naegi. She looked down at him, face pinched.

“. . . I’m sorry.”

Without looking back, Pekoyama briskly walked in the direction from which they had came. Naegi turned, a shout on his lips, but it died once the darkness swallowed her.

“I think she was taking me to a car,” Naegi said. “I guess you consider that cheating.”

He looked upward where the first, pink traces of dawn streaked across the sky. He had only a few hours before the others woke and breakfast came. They’d notice his absence – they always did – and without Mikan to vouch for his whereabouts, they’d surely go looking for him. How long it’d take them to extend that search to the outside . . . it wouldn’t be long enough.

Pekoyama hadn’t really said much about where she was trying to take him, but he knew the general direction and surely, if he got _away_ he’d find help eventually. Maybe when Alter Ego found out, he’d take the cellphone to Iwata who would warn Kirigiri, and then _she’d_ rescue him. The very idea made him light up. If she was on the case, then there would be nothing to worry about. All he had to do was evade Ultimate Despair until she tracked him down.

Already fantasizing about his inevitable rescue, he trudged onwards through the ruins –

A vice grip closed over his arm. Before he could protest, Kamukura yanked him off the path he was taking and started pulling him somewhere else.

He groaned. “Okay, what do I have to do to make this ‘fair’? Please don’t tell me it’s an obstacle course . . . It totally is an obstacle course. Y-you don’t need to do that. I’m terrible at them! I always end up getting tangled in the ropes, or losing my socks in the mud and once – I don’t even know _how_ – I got myself wedged in a tire tight enough that I couldn’t move my arms. . .”

“It’s not,” Kamukura said.

He winced. If it wasn’t an obstacle course . . . He shuddered to think what it _could_ be.

With each step they took, with each beat of silence, his unease grew. Kamukura was not somebody you wanted to question, but Naegi did have a right to know. Whatever hurdle he had to jump, he’d like a little time to prepare for it.

“Kamukura-kun, where are you taking me?”

“. . . Back.”

“. . . What?”

Kamukura stopped walking to look down at him. “I’m taking you back to your room.”

Naegi stared. That . . . that . . .

“You can’t do that!” he cried. “That’s . . . that’s not fair!”

“I can do that,” Kamukura said. Not a feature on his face twitched. “And I will.”

“No, no! You can’t. Let go of me!”

“Stop fighting me,” Kamukura said, yanking Naegi along even as he dug his feet in. “You know you can’t win.”

“It’s not cheating!” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Pekoyama-san got me out, but she wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t given her hope. This is still my work! _I_ made this happen.”

“You’re not changing my mind.”

“It’s no different than when you helped me!” Naegi spat. “You stood there and watched as I ran out. You let me have your shoes when I was looking for a way out! If you can help me, she should be able to help me, too!”

“. . . I wasn’t helping you.”

“Yes, you were!” Naegi said. “You made that map for me, and gave me those shoes and –”

“You were never meant to get away.”

“What?” he said in disbelief.

“So long as Komaeda’s trap lay in the city, your escape was impossible.” Kamukura turned his head away sharply. “It didn’t matter what advantages I gave you.”

Every so slowly, like they were wading their way through a sea of molasses, the pieces came together. He looked back, took all the tidbits he had _thought_ he had known about Kamukura, and saw them in a new light.

“All this talk about being ‘fair’ and wanted to see me fight against Komaeda-kun. . . you were lying. You’ve been deceiving me this whole time. You were never really going to let me get away.”

“I can’t allow you to leave. Not now,” was Kamukura’s only excuse. “Let’s go.”

He tugged on Naegi’s arm like an owner urging their stubborn dog to leave. But Naegi wasn’t some dumb animal existing to please, and when Kamukura tugged harder, he snarled.

“You . . . you traitor!” he howled, clawing at Kamukura’s iron grip. “You liar! I hate you! Let go . . . _Let me go!_ ”

“You can’t leave yet.”

Kamukura hauled him along as if Naegi wasn’t fighting back. Kamukura had Naegi under the armpit, lifting his shoulder up so that only one of his feet were touching the ground. Yet Naegi wasn’t giving up yet, and he used his dangling foot to kick at Kamukura’s shin.

“I hate you! _I hate you!_ ”

Kamukura suddenly grabbed his arm and _twisted_. Pain ran up the center of his arm, congealing in his shoulder.

“If you keep screaming past this point, they will hear you,” Kamukura said. “They will know you tried to escape. Is that what you want? Do you really want them to figure out you tried to run away again?”

A fat tear slid down Naegi’s cheek.

Kamukura muttered, “If it had been earlier, I could have told you. I should have, but I didn’t trust you. It’s too late now. . .”

Naegi wasn’t listening to Kamukura’s rambling. Kamukura had switched his grip, using the scruff of his shirt to guide him. Naegi raised his arms, inched backwards, backwards . . .

And slid out of the shirt as Kamukura tugged on it. He whipped around and ran, aiming for a building where he could hide and –

Kamukura tackled him from behind. He twisted them in midair, so that Naegi landed on his side instead of his face.

“No! _No!_ ” He kicked at Kamukura’s stomach, but Kamukura deflected his foot off to the side and slammed Naegi onto his back.

“Stop fighting.”

“ _No!_ ”

“Naegi, stop this.”

“Get off me!”

Naegi managed to free a foot and to his surprise, he drove a knee into Kamukura’s gut. Kamukura’s face twisted, more so out of shock than pain, but then some _real_ emotion flashed over his face and Naegi found a hand wrapped around his throat, threatening to throttle him.

“Don’t you understand why I need you?” Kamukura snarled, shaking him.

Naegi wailed, and began curling into a ball.

Kamukura leaned back, hands over his face. His shoulders moved up and down as he breathed.

His arms fell to his side.

“Naegi, if you don’t calm down, I am going to gag you,” Kamukura said coldly.

Naegi showed no signs of obeying or even hearing, and with a sigh Kamukura grabbed his arms and pried them away from his face. Quick as lightning, he rammed Naegi’s own discarded shirt into his mouth. The sudden harshness made him gag.

“Are you going to be quiet now?” Kamukura asked.

Naegi didn’t nod, but he didn’t speak.

This time, Kamukura held him by the neck, digging his fingers in enough to make it throb. Naegi gave it one last try and latched onto the side of the entrance as they passed by. Kamukura paused, looking bored, and then yanked hard enough on Naegi’s arm to break his grip. He continued to pull Naegi along.

Finally, the entrance, the last hope of escape faded from view and Naegi went limp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:   
> The arc climax.


	84. The Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... The reaction to this one is going to be interesting. I'm worried again even though this was more foreshadowed than that thing with Komaeda lol.
> 
> I've been having a random issue where everything I try to copy and paste comes out as italics, so if you see a section with random italicization, let me know.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ ”

Kuzuryu’s last shout rang through the room as he stomped around. Back on the couch he had been previously sitting on, Nidai, Tanaka, Saionji and Koizumi stated wide-eyed at the screen. Owari stood behind them while the others were scattered around the room, all watching the television. Only Naegi, Soda and Nevermind were missing.

“How the fuck . . .? A school girl. She’s a goddamn schoolgirl _!_ How does a schoolgirl defeat a Monokuma the size of a building?”

“Maybe it’s a secret Naegi-Clan power. Ooo, or it’s the ahoge! Hah! You should have sent Ibuki to fight her. I have _two_ ahoges.”

“First off, you have fucking horns, not ahoges,” Kuzuryu said. “Second, _it’s not the goddamn ahoge!_ ”

“Maybe fighting Ultimate Despair _is_ a Naegi thing,” Nidai said nervously. “He and his sister must have been training since birth for this. Or there’s a secret Naegi team-building ritual . . .”

Tanaka nodded furiously in agreement.

“I really don’t think it’s a magic ritual,” Koizumi said to Tanaka. “I mean she had that crazy serial killer on her side, too.”

Saionji said, “Maybe Soda’s just an idiot who can’t build a robot properly.”

Kuzuryu collapsed into the seat he had previously vacated. “Where’s Naegi?”

Koizumi checked her phone. “Well, it’s Friday. . . He should still be out in that tank shooting Monokumas with Soda and Nevermind-san.”

“I think,” Kuzuryu said slowly, “that this goes without saying, but nobody breathes a word of this to him. It’s bad enough he figured out his sister was loose; the last thing we need is him hearing about _this_.”

Murmurs of agreement went around the room. Then Tsumiki’s phone went off.

“Umm, h-hello? Huh? Oh, okay. . .”

She hung up.

“That was the Imposter.”

“Hey, he’s awake?” Owari said. “Great! Maybe he can get Naegi off my back about this whole ‘You gotta eat food’ nonsense!”

In a matter of seconds, the room nearly emptied as Ultimate Despair rushed out to check on the Imposter. Kuzuryu and Pekoyama remained behind.

Kuzuryu turned off the TV. “This whole thing was a fucking nightmare from the start. The Warriors of Hope are lucky the Future Foundation didn’t get involved; they would have been annihilated.”

“Where do we go from here?” Pekoyama asked.

“Go visit the Imposter. Wait for further instructions,” Kuzuryu said. “Now that the Big Bang Monokuma is gone, we’ll probably be hearing from them or Enoshima-san.”

* * *

Hours passed. Days. Kuzuryu and Nevermind haunted the communications room; the video communication had finally been fixed after Soda annoyed Kamukura enough to get him to help. Still, no word came from their allies over in Towa City. The co-leaders of Ultimate Despair waited in shifts, always with half an eye on the bulb that light up to indicate an incoming message. Nevermind took the night shifts, Kuzuryu the morning, swapping halfway through meals so the other could eat . . .

. . . Until Kuzuryu finally got fed up and ordered Pekoyama to stand vigil until they made contact. Really, why hadn’t he thought of that earlier?

On the fourth day in the afternoon, the call came.

“Young Master!” A pale, dark-eyed Pekoyama greeted them as Kuzuryu and Nevermind walked through the door.

“Where’s my fucking chair?”

Pekoyama raced to find him one. Kuzuryu dropped into it and Pekoyama stood behind him, wobbling on her feet.

“Do we still need her?” Nevermind asked. When Kuzuryu shook his head, she said, “Pekoyama-san, why don’t you take a nap?”

Pekoyama looked at her master. He shrugged and waved her away.

The door shut behind Pekoyama as Kuzuryu reached for the controls. He and Nevermind looked at each other, and then with a click of a button, the wall-screen before them lit up.

“. . . What?” Kuzuryu said.

That wasn’t Enoshima. Nor was it the Warriors of Hope.

On the screen, a brown-haired girl kicked her feet as she sat on a table. She gave them a small wave, smiling. That was enough to infuriate Kuzuryu, who began turning red. Nevermind looked closer. Was that . . .?

“They picked up? Finally!” Another girl with glasses and much longer hair poked her head out of the side of the screen. She bounced into view, twirling scissors in one hand. “Who the hell do you think you are? Making us wait like that . . . Hey, that’s a cute boy I see. Too bad killing nine year-olds is outside my style!”

As if determined to prove beyond a doubt that he was no child, Kuzuryu unleashed a tirade of swearing. It only made the Serial Killer laugh hard enough that spit flew from her mouth.

“Okay, time for me to speak,” the other girl said. “I’m Naegi Komaru, Makoto’s sister.”

“We know you are,” Kuzuryu snarled. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing contacting us?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Kuzuryu and Nevermind looked at each other. They burst into laughter.

“Huh? Hey, I mean it! I wanted to talk to you. Stop laughing at me!”

Nevermind quieted down first, but Kuzuryu was the one who spoke the harsh words. “Look, kid, we know where this is going. We’re going to skip all the bullshit and give you our answer: no. You ain’t getting your brother back. You got that? It’s not happening. You can beg and cry – fuck, I hope you do! – but it’s not going to change a thing. You hear me? Your brother belongs to us, and there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it!”

“Nothing?” Komaru repeated.

“That’s right. Nothing.”

Komaru glanced somewhere off-screen. She kicked her feet.

“Is it time?” Genocider Shou demanded. “Shall we unveil the massive plot twist?”

“Do it.”

The screen became a blur as Genocider Shou grabbed the camera and twisted it. As the pixels settled, Nevermind and Kuzuryu leaned in to take a closer look.

They both paled.

Genocider Shou poked her head in again and laughed. (“I see that look people I’m about to gut!”) Neither Nevermind nor Kuzuryu paid much attention to her. No, their focus was on the table they saw; specifically, what lay upon it: two Monokuma heads. One black. One white.

And Komaru – that little brat – walked into sight, all smiles.

“Are you sure that nothing would change your mind?” she asked.

Nevermind recovered swiftly. “I am not sure why you kept the heads of two of our robots, but . . .”

“They’re not just robots, they’re important to you. I don’t know why, but I know they are!”

There was enough conviction there that they knew this was no idle threat. She knew. But how? Nobody should know. Hypothetically, Naegi could have told the Future Foundation and they could have passed it on to his sister in turn, but Naegi only knew about Shirokuma. How had his sister discovered both?

“What do you want?” Kuzuryu demanded.

Komaru glared at him. “A trade. I’ll give you these, and you’re going to give me my brother back.”

* * *

 “. . . And that’s the situation.”

In their small board room, Ultimate Despair sat around a long table. Kamukura was there too, having deemed the meeting ‘interesting.’

“Naegi Komaru agreed to wait for us to call back once we spoke to you,” Nevermind said. “This is a very big decision, and we thought everyone should have a say.”

“. . . So, we’re getting Enoshima-san back? Why d’you even bother calling this meeting? We don’t need to talk about this,” Soda said. “Just tell the kid we accept and let’s go get her!”

Tsumiki raised her hand, “B-but Makoto –”

“Yeah, that’s the best part!” Soda said, grinning. “We tell ‘em that we accept and then once we get Enoshima-san back, we shoot them and take Naegi back, too!”

Everyone agreed happily. Even Tsumiki seemed mollified.

However, Kuzuryu tipped his fedora forward, hiding his face. “. . . There’s a problem with that plan.”

“Eh?”

Nevermind sighed heavily. “The problem is that while we spoke to Naegi’s sister, we suspect the Future Foundation is truly behind this. If I were part of the Future Foundation and I were planning this, I would order the negotiators to meet with their part of the bargain inside a large building . . . which I would demolish once everyone was inside so that nothing survived.”

Nidai swallowed. “You mean . . .”

“But we just can’t say no!” Koizumi cried. “It’s Enoshima-san! If we don’t accept, they’ll destroy her.”

“That’s assuming they don’t do anything before the trade-off,” Kuzuryu said darkly. “For all we know, they’re planning to give us some busted heads.”

“And that is the crux of the matter,” Nevermind said. “If we do not accept this trade, we will lose Enoshima-san’s A.I. However, if we do, there is a significant risk that we will lose her and Makoto.”

This time, the murmurs were very much not excited.

“B-but Enoshima-san!” Saionji said.

“We know,” Nevermind said.

The Imposter weakly raised his hand. “If I may . . .”

“Ah, I apologize!” Nevermind slowed her voice down and said, “We are discussing . . .”

“You don’t need to do that,” the Imposter said. “I am . . . tired, but I still have my mind. You two are correct that this is a momentous decision, which I why I suggest that we put it to a vote.”

“Yes, I like that.”

Tanaka slammed the table. He reached inside his jacket, whipped out a deck of cards with a very strange and dark-looking theme, and speedily dealt one out to each person.

Kuzuryu said, “Alright, here’s the deal. Face-up to accept the trade, face-down to say no. Not that it matters since everyone’s going to vote. . . what the hell are you doing?”

Nevermind glanced up from where she was sliding a face-down card forward. “Komaeda-kun.”

 “Oh. Yeah, that fucker would vote like that.” Kuzuryu laughed and slid his face-up card forward.

“Sometimes, I worry about their relationship,” Nevermind admitted, also sliding a face-up card forward.

“Yeah, that guy’s a creep!” Soda said. He added a face-up card, and carefully ignored the look Nevermind sent his way.

“I’ve always wondered if there was something more going on there,” Hanamura said as he voted in favour of the trade.

“Anyways, let’s get this shit over with,” Kuzuryu said. “Put your votes in and then we’ll figure out how to outwit these fuckers!”

“. . . And this is why I wanted a vote.”

Kuzuryu stared. As did Nevermind. As did everyone else.

“The hell you doing?” Owari asked.

The Imposter sighed and took his hand off the face-down card. “I understand this is hard for you to grasp, but the A.I. is that: artificial. It’s a shadow of the real thing. It’s . . . it’s an imposter. It isn’t her, and that is not worth risking one of our own.”

“B-but it’s her!” Koizumi said. “We can’t just turn our backs on her –”

Tsumiki slid a face-down card forward.

“It isn’t her,” Tsumiki said. “And Makoto . . . he needs us. They’ll be mean to him a-and . . . I want him here, with me.”

“This is stupid!” Saionji snapped. She slammed her face-up card down. “I can’t believe anyone’s even questioning this.”

“Relax,” Koizumi said, also entering her face-up card. “They’re allowed to have their own opinion.”

“Not when it’s wrong!”

Nidai sighed. He had been staring at Tsumiki after she had voted, and only now tore his gaze away.

“We can’t trust the Future Foundation,” Nidai said. “Especially after what Naegi-kun said at the funeral. They’re not doing this out of the goodness of their hearts. The kid’s our responsibility and I can’t hand him over when we know he’s going to be killed or hurt. That’s crossing a line, she crossed a . . . I can’t do it.”

Kuzuryu grit his teeth as Nidai’s face-down card was added to the tally. “Look, I know you like Naegi and all, but . . . Hey!”

Soda glanced up from where he had flipped his card over. “Wh-why you staring at me like that? I mean, he’s got a point. Naegi’s our friend and stuff. And if they’re going to execute him or something, we can’t give him to them!”

“Soda-kun, you’re voting no,” Nevermind mumbled.

Kuzuryu turned on her. “Don’t you dare.”

“Hmm? Oh, I wasn’t planning on changing my vote. I just wanted Soda-kun to know that I deeply admire his concern for our friends!”

“Man, this is getting dumb,” Owari said as Tanaka nodded and submitted a face-up card.

“I know. Can’t we just go home so Ibuki can set up another concert for her number one fan?” Mioda complained as she flipped a face-down card onto the table.

Half the table glared at her.

“I thought I was your number one fan!” Saionji cried.

“You’re number two! Makoto-chan’s family name is higher in the alphabet!”

“Hah!” Half-standing, Owari slammed her face-up card down and leered at Mioda. “I challenge you Naegi shippers to a brawl!” (“That’s not what a shipper is,” the Imposter groaned.) “My side’s going to beat your socks off!”

“. . . You do that, Owari. Anyways, that’s it.” Kuzuryu said. “Tally’s in favour of accepting. Let’s move onto how the hell we pull this off.”

“Very well. Did anyone have any suggestions?” Nevermind asked, looking around the table. “Unfortunately, we have been unable to come up with a plan ourselves that would assure Makoto’s safety.”

“No . . .”

The Imposter sighed. “Can we at least dictate where the exchange will take place?”

“There were very strong indications that they already have the location in mind.”

“No . . .”

“Well, we can still try to convince them,” the Imposter said. “If we take this to a location they had prepared beforehand, the battle is already lost.”

Nevermind said, “I am aware of that –”

“No.”

“. . . Did you hear something?” Kuzuryu asked the group. “Kind of like the sound of somebody whose opinion doesn’t fucking matter?”

“There’s still one more . . .” Pekoyama said, holding her fist close to her chest. “You forgot my vote.”

“We already won,” Kuzuryu said. “Yours – no surprise here – doesn’t matter.”

“. . . It does.”

Pekoyama put her card down, and nudged it towards the center.

Kuzuryu glanced down at it. “Peko, my card’s face-up.”

“I know.”

“Great. So, stop being a dumbass and turn yours –”

“I can’t do that.”

Kuzuryu stopped midsentence. It took nearly half a second for him to reboot. “The fuck you doing?”

“I . . . I can’t allow this to happen. This is my vote.”

Mioda screeched, foaming at the mouth as she mock-fainted.

“W-wait? What are we supposed to do now? The vote’s tied!” Soda shouted. Kuzuryu didn’t answer him, too busy staring at Pekoyama.

“Umm . . . w-what about Kamukura-kun?” Tsumiki asked.

As one, the group turned to look at the outsider.

“He doesn’t get a vote,” Soda said. “He’s not one of us!”

“There’s nobody else to break the tie,” the Imposter said. “Don’t forget too that Kamukura-kun is immensely intelligent. He would be the one to ask if the Future Foundation is setting a trap. If no one else has any meaningful objections, I say we let him have a say.”

Perhaps, in another time, Kuzuryu would have, but he was too busy staring at Pekoyama.

“Well, Kamukura-kun?” the Imposter asked. “What is your opinion?”

Kamukura stared at him. “. . . You will not be able to pull it off. There is no benefit to accepting. Naegi stays.”

“No!” Kuzuryu leapt to his feet. “That’s bullshit. This is bullshit. We’re doing the fucking trade and getting her back!”

“B-but the vote –” Tsumiki said.

“I don’t give a fuck about the vote!” Kuzuryu shrieked. A wad of spittle flew from his mouth. “Are you guys fucking kidding me? We have a chance to get her back and you’re not jumping all over it?”

“Don’t yell at me!” Saionji snapped. “Tell the others that they’re being idiots.”

Kuzuryu ignored her and turned on Nevermind. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Nevermind stared at the tabletop. “The vote . . .”

“Is bullshit!” Kuzuryu hissed. “They could have all voted against this, for all I care. We’re the boss, so we’re the ones who –”

The queen’s head whipped around. “I am not a tyrant! These are my friends. If this is the way the vote is. . . then so be it.”

“I can’t . . . You can’t . . .” Kuzuryu collapsed into his chair. “This can’t be happening.”

“Young Master . . .”

“ _Don’t you fucking say anything_.”

* * *

“They said no?” Togami repeated, standing in the doorway to the small room.

“I don’t understand,” Komaru said, eyes distant as she stared at the now-dark screen. “It was supposed to work. He told me it would work!”

“I-idiot,” Fukawa said. “Trusting something one of th-them told you.”

“They were considering it!” Komaru snapped back. “They did! I just . . . I don’t know why it didn’t work!”

“Why it didn’t work doesn’t matter. What does it that it _didn’t_ ,” Togami said as he entered the room. “Are you sure you remember what you were told correctly.”

“I know what Kamukura-kun said!” Komaru said hotly. “He told me that the brains of these stupid robots were the only thing they care about!”

“Why?” Fukawa asked. “Wh-what’s so special about th-them?”

The red eye of the black Monokuma head lit up. “Whazzat? Somebody talking about me?”

“Hardly,” Togami said. “However, if you must speak, why don’t you tell us why they refused to take you back.”

“. . . Maybe because you can’t bluff a trade when you have nothing to offer.”

“What does that mean?”

The Monokuma started laughing. Togami remained stone-faced and Komaru scowled, but Fukawa bristled at the signature sound of the one who had killed their classmates.

“It means Naegi-poo kicked the bucket. He’s six feet under! Hanging out in Davy Jones’ Locker! He’s gone to live at the farm with all your old pets . . . Are you gonna make me spell it out for ya?”

“He’s . . . he’s joking, right?” Komaru said. She looked from Togami to Fukawa. “He’s just trying to mess with us, isn’t he?”

“Upupupupupupu . . .”

“Stop laughing!”

“I think I can help here,” the white Monokuma head said in a tone that was sickeningly sweet. “The order to kill Naegi-kun went out weeks ago!”

Togami took a step back. “You ordered them to . . .”

Both of the Monokumas laughed wildly. The sounds built up upon each other, filling the room and pouring out of the openings until nothing else could be heard –

And they stopped.

“Hey, what do ya think you’re doing?” the black Monokuma hissed, to Togami and Fukawa’s confusion. “That’s . . . Hey! _Hey_!”

Togami turned his head, and his eyes widened –

“ _Break!_ ”

Even if they had wanted to, there was no way to stop the momentum. The air shimmered as the Megaphone’s bullet passed through it, and the black Monokuma head flew a little into the air. By the time it came back down, black smoke was pouring from its cracks. The red eye was dim and cracked down the center. Moments later, its white counterpart looked the same way.

Komaru threw the Megaphone aside. She fell to her knees, and pressed up against the wall, sobbing. Fukawa twitched nearby, as if wanting to go to her aid.

“This can’t be right,” Togami muttered. “I need to step outside.”

He did so. Now one stopped or followed him, not even Fukawa. He ripped his cellphone out of his pocket, and made the call.

“Kirigiri, I need a status report on Naegi.”

* * *

It was done. The votes had been cast.

(In the room he had left behind, Owari was speaking. “Hey, you okay?”

“Hmm? Uh, yeah. Just . . . my head’s pounding,” Nidai said. “I’ve been getting headaches on and off for a while, especially after I talk to Naegi-kun.”)

Naegi Komaru had succeeded and performed her part, as he’d known she would. (The Warriors of Hope had been woefully unprepared.) The votes had been cast. And they had _refused._

Yes, they had not all agreed on the outcome. Yes, some of them had been very upset, but they had _accepted it_. They had not dissolved into in-fighting or a full out insurrection as he had acknowledged was a possibility. The vote had been cast, and even its most vicious opponent had yielded.

They’d been given a choice. They had voted. And they . . . they had chosen . . .

_Could it be? Despite everything that’s happened . . ._

( _“You know there’s no point to this. It would be a waste of time._ )

It didn’t matter how they tried to disguise it. It didn’t matter how they twisted the logic or made excuses or denied it outright; the conclusion was the same.

They’d chosen Naegi over Enoshima.

( _“But you don’t even try. . .”_ )

They’d chosen Hope.

And that meant . . .

( _“The operation was on my_ brain _. Remembering a few year’s worth of memories doesn’t change what they did to it._ )

That means . . .

It . . .

Could it be?

(“ _But they said you can do everything! And it’s not very hard. I could teach you how. . . probably.”_ )

Impossible. It could not be done. Despair was inevitable. The effects could not be undone. Logic and treatment meant nothing in the face of their cravings, and to reveal the truth of his purpose would only lead to death or exile. The plan had been doomed to fail from the start.

_And yet I agreed. And yet I tried this: the last, desperate scheme of a man who had nearly given up. And yet . . . it hasn’t failed._

( _“A car without an engine doesn’t run._ ”)

He picked up his pace. He could no longer hear Nidai or Owari, but he heard a door shut in another hall as Queen Nevermind finished her conversation with Naegi Komaru. He strode forward without pause, and opened and closed the door at his destination without breaking a beat.

He locked his bedroom door behind him.

( _“You’re not a machine! You’re my friend. And you should be their friend, too!”_ )

He could see himself in the mirror at the other end of the room. He passed by the bookcase and grabbed what appeared to be a worn scrapbook. He sat at the vanity desk, and opened it up.

Class 77 looked up at him. Their faces were young and innocent as they smiled at the camera. Chiaki, the class representative and also one of the shortest, was near the center. And behind her he saw himself. . .

( _“Chiaki . . .”_ )

Something slid down his face.

He glanced down at the wet spot on his hand.

They came silently, as they always did. He leaned back and let them, basking in one of the few times he could truly express himself. And was this not the time that he had the greatest reason to indulge? For against all odds and impossibilities, it had been a success, and that meant . . .

It meant . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was still hope.

( _“I was lonely too, before. Nobody liked games as much as me, and I didn’t think I needed friends. . . but Yukizome-sensei told me to try and I did and I really like them! You would too, I think . . . No, I know you would.”_ )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He gritted his teeth. The piercing, red-hot pain behind his eye was all in his mind, a placebo constructed from his witnessing of Tsumiki and the Imposter’s first stage recovery. Unfortunately, he knew that knowing something was a placebo wasn’t enough to end its effects. The pain only grew worse.

 _(“Kamukura can’t feel emotion.”_ )

A phantom icepick drove into his brain. He reeled back from the desk, hand pressing into his forehead over the site.

 _It’s working. Something’s_ finally _working . . ._

His eyes shut as he dug his nails into the side of his chair.

(“ _But you’re already my friend, so that isn’t true. And you're not him either, so that doesn't matter! . . . You are my friend, aren’t you, Hajime?”_ )

_So can I finally . . . Can I . . .?_

_(“I am._ ”)

_Can I finally stop pretending I’m only Kamukura Izuru?_

His eyes opened.

He took a deep breath. ~~Kamukura Izuru~~ Hinata Hajime raised his head, and looked at himself in the mirror.

_Please . . . please . . . don’t let this be another false hope._

He let his head drop again as the tears resumed.

_Naegi, please . . ._

_Save ~~us~~ them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, we are firmly in a timeline AU to the canon one.
> 
> I'm pretty sure most people had figured out at least part of the twists coming with Kamukura. It was a little abstract, so if you're not clear I'll explain the one most people didn't get. Kamukura has Hinata's memories and thus, you could say he's really Kamukura-Hinata from Hope Arc. However, he behaves like Kamukura because a) he's been pretending to be the Kamukura that the researchers created and b) "original" Kamukura is basically like Kamukura-Hinata's despair form. (Not brainwashed. More extremely depressed and on the verge of falling into despair). Some of the things regarding Kamukura (like how he remembers and why he's pretending to be "original" Kamukura... let's just call that one Classic!Kamukura) will be explained further in his backstory chapter, but feel free to ask away!
> 
> Also, next update will be June 17th.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Kuzuryu and Kuma have their long awaited rematch!


	85. The Third Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I is back

Naegi peeked inside the room. It was empty. With a sigh, he withdrew and crossed that one off his map as well.

“Where is he?” he muttered to Kuma. “Can’t you sniff him out? I brought his hoodie.”

Kuma licked his lips, and didn’t do anything.

Naegi sighed. He tucked Komaeda’s hoodie in closer to himself. He hadn’t seen Komaeda since that night and thus, had no update on their relationship status. It had occurred to him earlier that maybe he was supposed to go looking for Komaeda. That was something they did in romantic movies, right? It was awfully late to start looking though, so he had donned Komaeda’s hoodie as a peace offering and mini-acceptance. Hopefully, that would keep Komaeda from being too upset.

. . . Which he really needed because things sure seemed tense recently. He’d known there was a big meeting he wasn’t allowed to attend and evidently, it hadn’t gone well. (Maybe they had been talking about what a bad boyfriend he was.) Nevermind, ever the one to conceal her emotions, hadn’t changed much, but she was spending more time in her room than usual. In contrast, Kuzuryu had snarled at him when they made eye contact. He’d also spotted Tanaka drawing weird sigils and making weird motions – apparently, he was trying to curse someone. Even Mikan had a strange tension about her, where she seemed frightened of about half the group.

He sighed. This is why it would be nice to have Komaeda to back him up right now.

“I don’t get it,” Naegi said. “Where is he? The Monokumas said he stayed in this room. Do you think he told them to lie to me?”

Kuma offered advice the only way a bear could: he didn’t.

“You sure you don’t want to sniff him out?”

Kuma yawned. His canines gleamed. It was almost like he was reminding Naegi he wasn’t a sniffer dog.

“Yeah, yeah. I got to do this myself. I know.”

Although Kuma couldn’t speak, it was nice bouncing ideas off him. He wondered if Kirigiri felt that way when he had paired up with her for her investigations. And speaking of her, he still needed to tell her about that Yukizome person!

“What do you think?” he asked Kuma. “Keep looking for Komaeda-kun, or call Kirigiri-san? Hmm, or I could just text her. Then I have more time to look for Komaeda-kun.”

Kuma stared at him. Naegi took that to mean, “Why, yes, that’s an excellent idea!”

“Let’s get going then!” He scampered off . . .

And came back when Kuma sat down and didn’t move.

“. . . This is where you’re supposed to follow me,” Naegi said.

Kuma yawned again, and then settled down for an impromptu nap. Naegi rolled his eyes and then after a few seconds of consideration, snuggled in next to him. Maybe when he woke, Komaeda would be back.

(Surely, if Komaeda saw him waiting for him, all would be forgiven.)

* * *

The Young Master was moping. He sat forlornly on his throne, having drawn the curtains and turned off the lights so that the only illumination came from the hallway. His fedora was hanging nearby, but it was still hard to see his face – although it was woefully easy to guess what one would see on there.

At her post, Pekoyama shifted uncomfortably. The Young Master hadn’t insulted her all day. Nor had he spoken to her. Whenever his eyes met hers, his would slide away quickly. When she approached, he acted as though she was not there. It was a strange thing to be invisible to her master, and she wasn’t sure if she preferred it over his cruelty. It was. . . lonely.

“Young Master . . .”

“Oh, so you’ve finally decided to speak.”

She flinched at his viciousness. “I . . .”

“What? Do you want to apologize?” Kuzuryu turned to look at her, a god looking upon his minuscule subjects. “Do you think that would be good enough? ‘Oh, I’m sorry Master! I just betrayed everything you stand for. Whoops!’ Well? Is that it? Is that what you were going to fucking say?”

She looked away.

It seemed to her that he had been waiting for this moment all along. For when he leapt off his throne, it was like watching a spring release its tension. His single eye was swirling.

“How long have you been waiting for this?” he demanded and although he was so much shorter than her, she felt so small. “You’ve been planning this, haven’t you? Twiddling your thumbs like a fucking movie villain, waiting for the time you could cause the maximum damage . . . You done your evil laugh yet? Well?”

“I didn’t . . .”

“ _Laugh_ , Peko!”

The mechanics of her throat felt rusty. She managed a pathetic sound.

“You can’t even do that right!” Kuzuryu spat at her feet. “The most fucking useless tool in the entire fucking world!”

She was beginning to think she liked being ignored better. “All I have ever wanted to do is help you.”

“ _Oh Master, let me say a bunch of soppy words so you throw up and forget how useless I am!_ ”

Kuzuryu laughed wildly at his own statement. Even as he approached her, he was laughing away like a hyena.

Then, with a speed that impressed her, a knife flashed into his hand. She knew what he intended, she knew what was coming, and yet she stood there and allowed it as he pressed the curve of the blade against her neck.

“A traitor receives the reward they deserve,” he said softly.

“If that is what you desire,” she said.

He peered up at her with a visage that would have been as innocent as a child, if it hadn’t been for those swirls.

His shoulders heaved, and he tossed the knife aside.

“You’re so boring,” he complained. “Pick that up.”

She did, and handed it back to him. He feinted a thrust at her chest, laughing even though she hadn’t flinched.

“Let’s go. I’m done moping around in here.”

She followed.

It really did seem as though he had been waiting for that all along. Weight had lifted off his face, making him look years younger. His smile now, would truly look innocent. He actually whistled as he strolled through the halls, before suddenly stopping short. The Young Master did not look alarmed, but her sword was a conscious weight on her waist as she peered past him.

Oh . . . This could be bad.

“He puts us through all this goddamn trouble, doesn’t fucking apologize and instead keeps trying to spread hope . . . and then he takes a nap in the fucking hall like an adorable fucking kitten.” Kuzuryu released a breath that sounded like a cross between frustration and acceptance. “Peko, wake him up and tell him to stop sleeping in the hall like an adorable fucking kitten.”

She did. Naegi, who apparently wasn’t holding a grudge against her, laughed when she repeated exactly what Kuzuryu had said, but he did rub his eyes and stand up. His bear was much more troublesome to wake, and growled at her once he saw who it was.

“Kuma, Pekoyama-san said you’re supposed to stop being adorable!”

. . . Right.

Kuma snorted and turned his head away, snubbing her.

Hands crossed behind his head, Kuzuryu walked up to them. “The hell you napping here for anyways? We got you a bed.”

“I was waiting for Komaeda-kun,” Naegi said, the gleam in his eye close to manic.

“Komaeda?” Kuzuryu glanced at her. She pretended that she knew no more than him. Naegi appeared oblivious to the exchange, and she was unsure whether that was to be celebrated.

Kuzuryu said, “Get up. We got things to do.”

“But I really need to see Komaeda-kun . . .”

“Like you’d find him sitting here. Come on, get up.”

Kuzuryu had fallen into his commanding voice. It worked; it worked too well, she’d say. Naegi obediently fell into line behind him, but his movements were too quick, frightened. Kuma huffed; the bear had noticed. She wondered if her Young Master saw in him what she did.

Once upon a time, Pekoyama would have boasted that she could read her master’s mind. While literally that was an impossibility, she saw little difference between it and reality. Every twitch, every flicker, every tiny motion was a map laying out his will. Every line in his face whispered a hundred secrets. She was her Young Master’s sword, another one of his limbs, and commands had flowed from his brain to hers as smoothly as they did for his own body. But Despair had taken that from her. It had severed them at the nerve, leaving her dangling and itching for a message that would never come. Sometimes – when her master was busy with work, too occupied to be cruel and remember – the connection mended itself. But other times – when his eyes filled with swirls, his laughter low and full of malice – she was left groping for signals that had died long before reaching her.

It occurred to her then, as the Young Master led her and Naegi through the hall, that she had no idea what he was thinking.

“Peko, perimeter check.”

The sudden request jolted her from her thoughts. “I beg your pardon?”

“You have ears, don’t you?” Kuzuryu grumbled. “Go check if the cameras picked anything up in the last hour.”

It was a strange request. However, it didn’t appear to be coming out of nowhere as he had been leading them towards the monitors. Pekoyama trudged ahead, aware of Naegi asking Kuzuryu not to be so mean as she departed . . .

When she returned, Kuzuryu was speaking with a Monokuma soldier. This time, she could read him. He was coiled, wound up like a wire, which meant he was concerned. Deliberately or not, he had kept Naegi behind him, placing his shoulder between Naegi and the soldier, which meant his concern was for Naegi’s safety. There were few reasons to suddenly worry about that and given his earlier instruction, it was easy to narrow down which one it was.

The question was why did he intend to let Naegi go outside?

“Scans negative,” the soldier droned as she reached them. She passed on similar information to her master.

“Alright. Looks like we’re in the clear.”

Naegi voiced her thoughts aloud. “What’s going on?”

“Naegi, are you aware of what’s happened lately?”

“No,” he said slowly. “A lot of people seem upset though . . . Am I in trouble?”

(She might have been alarmed at how quickly he assumed it was his fault if it wasn’t so depressingly true.)

“Some shit went down,” Kuzuryu said, “but . . . Well, we got to make the most of the situation, right? So, come on. The three of us are going on a field trip.”

He linked his arm with Naegi and marched him down the hall.

(“Is Komaeda-kun going to be there?” Naegi asked, and she wanted to spin him around and slap him.)

She had already figured out where her Young Master was going. Naegi seemed to be figuring it out because he was squirming more and more. Kuma had detected his nervousness and decided to take it out on the one he perceived as the biggest threat – herself. It was manageable, but it was irritating having a grizzly breathing down your neck, just waiting for an excuse to bite.

“Kuzuryu-kun, where are we going?” Naegi asked anxiously. His eyes flickered to her, and she knew he was thinking of the last time he had been here.

“I told you. It’s a field trip.”

“But we’re really close to . . . _outside_.”

And Kuzuryu grinned. “That’s the point.”

Once they were in sight of the entrance, Kuzuryu shoved Naegi forwards. “The Monokumas swept over the area, so there shouldn’t be any Future Foundation goons running out at you. You got ten minutes. You stay within sight of me, within a hundred metres of the entrance, or I’ll shoot you in the leg and you can spend the rest of the month in your room. Any questions?”

“N-no!” It was cute how Naegi got so excited he couldn’t speak properly.

“Alright, the clock’s started. Go get some vitamin D.”

Even though Naegi was on a time limit, simply running outside was too much for him. He bunched up right at the line that separated shadow from light, and spent around half a minute making a big show of tiptoeing over it. Once he was over that line, he stumbled out further with his eyes closed and arms shielding his face. She could hear him giggling.

Kuma had no similar qualms about the outside world and was waiting for him. They watched as Naegi initiated and immediately lost a game of tug-of-war. Then they watched Kuma stare blankly at Naegi as he forgot Kuma wasn’t a dog and tried to teach him fetch.

“Kuzuryu-kun, Pekoyama-san, are you coming?” Naegi asked as he jogged to fetch the stick he had thrown.

“Nah,” Kuzuryu said. “You keep having fun.”

Naegi did so. The sun became brighter then and he stilled, pointing his face upwards and enjoying the warmth. He was so pale, almost glowing; she wondered if it was possible for him to get a sunburn in the little time he would be outside.

She shifted. It was nice to see him like this, so untroubled in comparison to the vibrating ball of carefree tension she had seen since that incident with Komaeda. It was nice too, because she couldn’t shake off that feeling that she had betrayed him: first by her failure, and then by stopping the deal that would have set him free. She had, she thought soberly, turned her back on Naegi in that moment, but while she was sorry she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Enoshima could not have been allowed to return. Enoshima could not be allowed to sink her hooks into them again.

Her mood was dropping, so she turned her attention back to Naegi and his contagious joy. It was surprising that Kuzuryu had gone this far, but while Naegi’s refusal to buckle down and fall into line enraged him, she knew the king of Ultimate Despair was protective of the boy-prince in his own way.

She hid a smile and glanced at her master. It was a great honor to see that side of him. Despair may have turned him against his yakuza and her, but the rest of her classmates hadn’t suffered. That said, most of them had been too strong-willed, too independent or too free-spirited to be slipped treats the way one could slip them to Naegi. Though, if she thought about it, that aspect of Naegi wasn’t a good thing.

Given that her thoughts had strayed again to negative things, perhaps that was why she noticed it when she did. The Young Master was watching Naegi intensely, not the surroundings. He was not keeping an eye out for danger as he should be. As he would if this was a benevolent exercise.

She realized it then: she still could not tell what her master was thinking.

“We still don’t know how he contacted the Future Foundation,” Kuzuryu said. “Komaeda’s bailed on us, too, so there goes that method.”

“Are you hoping to sow enough goodwill to learn his secrets?” She hoped not. For Naegi, a plan like that would start off easy to bear, but would come to a ferocious end when he still refused to talk and the Young Master thought his kindness had been spat upon.

“That wouldn’t work,” Kuzuryu said. “It’s fucking Naegi. He thinks that granting favours and letting people walk over you is how people are supposed to interact.”

The Young Master rolled his eyes, and that meant he found that part of Naegi amusingly adorable (as much as the Young Master could think a person was adorable.) But he was still watching Naegi intensely, and she did not know what that meant.

“We can’t figure out how he’s contacting the Future Foundation,” Kuzuryu sighed. “So, we’re going to have to go about this a different way. If we can’t physically stop him from contacting them, then we just got to take away his reason for contacting them.”

His eyes slid over to her, prompting her silently.

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” she said. “Not unless you intend to hand him over.”

“See, that’s something I’d expect a dumbass like Owari to say. We just decided not to trade him for Enoshima-san. Obviously, I’m not going to let them have him!”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

He smiled with a little curl to his lip that suggested malice. “Naegi wants to talk to them because he thinks they’re his friends. So, we turn him against them, and everything will be okay.”

She still couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Whatever it was, however, it wasn’t good.

“Peko, go play with him.”

She slowly turned her head.

“You know what I mean,” Kuzuryu said, although he sounded a little flustered. “Keep a close eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

There was more than what he was saying, but try as she might, she couldn’t decipher it. As though he were purposely trying to hide his intentions from her, he was in tight control of his muscles. He was unnaturally still in the light breeze, like a statue, or a heron waiting for a fish to come within striking range. She walked forward towards Naegi, fighting the urge to unsheathe her sword.

“Ah, Pekoyama-san! Is Kuzuryu-kun coming, too?”

“No, he’s . . .”

What was he doing? She looked over her shoulder to find him holding a phone. His gaze was . . . it was directed somewhere far above him. She followed it . . . Was that a person she saw on that roof?

She looked back at Kuzuryu just as he began to speak into the phone. Although they were separated by distance and his tone was not one that carried, she could see the slight movements of his lips. That was enough. She heard the Young Master’s voice in her mind as clearly as if he had been right next to her:

“ _Shoot the bear_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the last arc. I'm torn between calling it The Good Fight, or just plain old Despair.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> ...I think y'all can guess.


	86. The Sacrifice

His lap was soaked with blood.

He didn’t see it coming. Never heard the shot. One moment Kuma was sitting next to him, and then a soaking wet cloud slapped him in the face. Kuma was bellowing and his shoulder had suddenly given way as he snarled and chomped at thin air. He fell heavily, sending shockwaves through the ground. One of his hind legs twitched sporadically.

“Kuma!” Blood dripped off his shirt. He reached for the mound of fur in front of him –

“Naegi-kun!” Pekoyama yanked him back, just as Kuma – eyes dilated and full of blood-rage – snapped his jaws shut where Naegi’s arm would have been. Flecks of foamy spittle dotted the bear’s jaws, falling onto the shaggy coat that was starting to glisten red. . .

“ _Kuma!_ ”

“Don’t . . . He’s too dangerous to touch!” Pekoyama snapped. She head-locked him from behind to stop him from running straight into Kuma’s claws.

“He needs help! Where’s Mikan? He needs to go to the infirmary!”

“Get inside!” Kuzuryu hissed, having ran over to join Pekoyama in her wrangling. “Don’t you see? There’s fucking snipers out there!”

Snipers. He turned glistening eyes to the ruins. There? They must have snuck in while he was playing. He hadn’t even noticed, and now Kuma was . . .

“We need to help him!” Naegi cried as they hauled him to safety. “He’s hurt. He can’t get in on his own!”

Now that they were inside, Kuzuryu glanced at Pekoyama. “Get help. Not Owari. I don’t trust her not to collapse on us after what happened to the Imposter.”

Pekoyama hurried off, leaving Kuzuryu to deal with a struggling, frantic Naegi.

“They’ll shoot him! We can’t wait for them. We need to get him inside now!”

“Fuck, Naegi! They’re not going to shoot the fucking bear again.”

“They just did!”

“Don’t you get it? Naegi, you were right next to him!”

That silenced him, but only for an instant. “But . . .”

“They don’t care about a goddamn bear. They’ve tried to assassinate you before, remember? The Future Foundation’s just tried to give it another go, and missed.”

Kuzuryu looked towards the entrance, as if he could see the shooter standing in its threshold. Naegi, on the other hand, went limp. The Future Foundation? They had shot Kuma? But . . . that couldn’t be right. They were the good guys! They had tried to kill him once before, but that was because they were confused, not because they were bad . . .

“Kuma . . .”

“Stay inside, and let them worry about the bear.”

He could see Kuma’s profile in the distance, still writhing. Then Kuzuryu pulled him around a corner and he saw nothing.

Pekoyama and the others took much too long to arrive. Kuzuryu wouldn’t even let him watch the rescue. Instead, he and that traitorous Soda teamed up to make sure Naegi didn’t make a run for Kuma. His every muscle contracted, Naegi listened for the squeak of the trolley wheels that someone had wisely thought to bring. What if Kuma was too heavy for them? He was a very big bear. What if one of them got shot, too?

Apparently though, the shooter had fled after that failed shot. They brought Kuma in without losing any of their own. Someone had tied a belt around Kuma’s muzzle to stop him from biting, and Nidai was holding down his front paws and Kuma wasn’t overpowering him –

They didn’t stop him from running to his friend this time, although Tanaka caught him before he got too close to the hind legs where the claws were still free. Kuma’s chest was still moving, pumping up and down in quick, shallow motions. His breathing sounded rough, like he was recovering after a long run. Mixed in with the golden-brown fur he knew was a rust-like tint clustered around his neck. Naegi fell to his knees next to his head, and Kuma feebly tried to snap at him.

“Kuma . . .” Naegi raised a hand uncertainly. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hug him. He wanted to stroke him and comfort him and tell him that everything would going to be alright. Yet, something held him back. Something refused to touch that fresh blood or risk finding the bullet hole hidden in the fur.

Mikan finally arrived. She stopped dead at the sight before regrouping and kneeling on the other side of Kuma’s head. She barely spent any time examining him.

“It’s hit a major artery,” Mikan said.

“So, you need to stich him up, right?” Naegi said.

She looked across Kuma’s body at him. “Makoto . . .”

“Don’t tell me you forgot to bring the stitches!” If it wasn’t for the hysteric tone to his voice, she probably would have thought he was snapping at her. “You have first aid kits around, right? O-or we take him to the infirmary because he has to go there anyways . . .”

Mikan didn’t answer.

“So, what are we doing?” Naegi demanded. “He’s still bleeding. We can’t just stand here!”

“The bullet’s passed through a major artery,” Mikan repeated for some reason.

“I know that!” Naegi said. “How do we treat him?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “. . . He’s lost too much blood.”

“Then stich it up so he stops bleeding!” Naegi shouted.

Mikan met his eyes again, and hers were also full of tears. “It’s not enough.”

“Th-then give him more blood!” Naegi ripped off Komaeda’s hoodie, lunging across Kuma’s neck as he presented his bare arm to Mikan.

Mikan didn’t say anything.

“He’s really big, but there’s a lot of us. If we all chip in, that’s gotta be enough. Right? Right?”

“That’s . . .”

“And there’s tons of soldiers around! We can ask them for help. There’s enough blood. There has to be!”

“. . . He’s a bear,” Mikan said.

“ _I know!_ ” Why did she keep repeating things he already knew? Why was she wasting his time with this when they could be stitching him up and getting the transfusions ready? She was the best nurse in the world. Why wasn’t she doing anything?

“We’re human,” Mikan said quietly. “Our blood isn’t compatible.”

He switched tracks in an instant. “Then get the other bears here! Tanaka-kun can get them to give blood.”

Tanaka shook his head.

“Yes, you can!” Naegi screamed. “You’re the Ultimate Breeder. You can get them to do anything!”

Tanaka made a zero with his hand.

“What do you mean there’s no other bears?” he screamed. “You’re just saying that because you think it’s funny because you’re Despair.”

“He’s not lying,” Nevermind said softly.

“No. No . . .”

He grabbed the fur under Kuma’s chin. Kuma didn’t try to attack him this time. Naegi wished he would. Maybe if Kuma bit him and swallowed some of his blood, his body would convert it for its own use.

“He’s not dead. There’s got to be something we can do. _Please_!” Naegi looked at the group desperately, but none of them spoke up. None of them offered encouragement.

Then, Naegi saw _him_ in the back. The pale sheen of his skin was like the beam of a lighthouse cutting through thick fog. Naegi half-crawled towards him, stopping on his knees where he began to beg.

“Kamukura-kun, you have every talent, don’t you? There’s got to be an Ultimate Vet or something in there. You can help him. There’s something you can do.”

He wasn’t entirely sure Kamukura had heard him, even when he muttered, “Zero percent.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Naegi said. “I’m sorry I got mad at you that one time, but it’s not Kuma’s fault, so you . . . please. Help him!”

“Without blood, there is nothing that will save him. Even if I were to create a synthetic substitute, it would take too long.”

_No_.

He crawled back over to where Kuma laid in his own blood. His body was hanging over the sides of the trolley. His eyes were already going glassy, and Naegi stared at his own reflection within them. Kuma was still taking heavy-sounding, laboured breaths, but his chest was moving less and less. Kuma’s head jolted suddenly, as if he were about to lift it.

“Kuma . . . I’m sorry.” Because this was his fault. He was the one who had wanted to go outside and he had been the reason Kuma was outside and Kuzuryu said that. . . that _he_ should have been the victim . . . Ultimate Despair could have given their blood to him and _it should have been him_ –

The blood no longer kept him away. He hugged Kuma around the neck, painting his face red. Kamukura said there was nothing he could do, that there wasn’t enough time . . . But that all came down to luck, didn’t it? If Kuma could miraculously survive until Kamukura made more blood, then it would be okay.

It was luck. He needed luck.

“Where’s Komaeda-kun?” he demanded. “He’s lucky. We can use his luck to save Kuma!”

The group shifted uncomfortably.

“Wait, nobody’s told him?” Soda asked.

“. . . Told me what?”

“Komaeda’s gone,” Kuzuryu said bluntly. Nevermind elbowed him in the side.

The queen stepped forwards to speak. “A couple of days ago, Komaeda slipped a note under our doors. It said that he . . . Staying here was no longer an option for him. We looked for him, but nobody’s been able to find him. We can only assume that he meant what he said and left us.”

Komaeda was . . .

He was . . .

Komaeda . . .

Komaeda had left?

He felt like he was falling down a well, and the shaft was growing narrower and narrower as he descended. There was no light, just a pinprick eons above him that was impossible to reach. Komaeda was gone. Komaeda was gone and had _left him behind_. There was no more logic to the world, no more beauty. Just a rotting wasteland Komaeda had abandoned him in.

_But you promised. You said you loved me. You said I was the most important thing in the world. How could you leave me?_

His memory rewound, stopping at his last meeting with Komaeda. It had been around half an hour long, but the entire scene played in front of him in a second. He remembered yelling at Komaeda, disobeying Komaeda, _attacking_ Komaeda. Was that why? Had Komaeda abandoned him because Naegi had betrayed him? He looked at his own blood-smeared knuckles, the same traitorous ones that had smashed into Komaeda’s face and made him bruise. He had done that. He had done this terrible thing and no wonder Komaeda had left him. How could he be forgiven for doing such a rotten thing to the person who loved him? Was that why this was happening? Was karma reacting to his transgressions?

But it hadn’t been Kuma’s fault. Kuma was innocent, and Naegi had killed him. He heard Kuma breathing, but his chest no longer moved. The eyes were open, but he could tell they saw nothing. He hugged Kuma again, and he couldn’t tell whether that made things any better.

“Kuma . . . I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Kuma’s head shifted. The great eye rolled in its socket to peer in his direction and in that moment, Naegi knew that Kuma truly saw him.

Then, it was over. Kuma sucked in one last breath, and life flowed out with his exhale.

“. . . Please don’t do this to me.”

There was no response.

“. . . Fucking Future Foundation,” Kuzuryu muttered.

“Th-they did that?” Mikan said.

Kuzuryu snapped out quickly, “Well, who else would it be? Must have been a sniper lurking around that I didn’t catch, and they were trying to tag him.”

“Why would they care about a bear?” Saionji asked.

“Not that bear, _Naegi_. They must have been aiming for him.”

But why? The Future Foundation was good. They were supposed to save him. He knew that they were enemies with Ultimate Despair, but Kuma was a bear and he didn’t know any better.

“Don’t worry,” Kuzuryu said as he knelt next to Naegi and squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll make sure the Future Foundation pays.”

Naegi didn’t say anything. He buried his face in Kuma’s fur.

“. . . Fuck, he’s going to spend all day laying in that mess if we let him. Someone get him cleaned up.”

A strong hand grabbed him started to pry him away.

“ _No! Let go of me!_ ”

“There’s nothing you can do now,” Nidai told him. His stance was strong even as Naegi twisted and thrashed, trying to get back to Kuma’s side. Kuzuryu was barking orders at the other muscular members of the group, preparing to take Kuma away.

“Let me stay with him, just for a little while!”

Nidai gave Kuzuryu a questioning look, but Kuzuryu immediately shook his head. “Not like that, he isn’t. Last thing we need is him catching some bloodborne disease. Clean him up.”

Naegi planted his feet, ankles straining to hold their position as Nidai tugged gently (for him, at least). Naegi had his head lowered like an ox hauling a cart and his shoulders were flared and stiff. He was ready to fight. Ready to prove his loyalty and stay –

Nidai picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” His fists pounded on Nidia’s back, leaving spots of red. “I don’t . . . stop!”

“Makoto, please try to calm yourself!” Nevermind said. “I know you want to be with him, but those snipers were aiming at _you_. We need to make sure you are safe first.”

“I _am_ safe!” he snapped. “They didn’t get me. I’m fine!”

“We can’t tell with all that blood,” Nidai said. “Adrenaline lets you ignore a lot of pain.”

“Christ, just get him out of here!” Kuzuryu said, voice strained. He had his back to them.

Naegi was loyal, determined and in that way fierce, but none of that negated that he was hanging over Nidai’s shoulder. All the emotion in the world couldn’t force Nidai to turn around and set him down. There was nothing he could do but be carried away.

Soda followed them, and cracked a couple of jokes that instantly fell flat. By the time they reached the showers for the pool (the nearest ones), Soda had nearly tugged his beanie far enough to hide his face.

“Alright, take it off.”

Nidia gestured at Naegi’s blood-splattered clothes. Eyes still watery, Naegi nevertheless crossed his arms and refused. If he wasn’t allowed to stay with Kuma then he wasn’t going to help them –

He choked when a face-full of shower water hit him in the face.

Hand still on the shower knob, Nidai sighed. “Wash up. I’ll get you some clean clothes and a tower.”

Naegi would have snuck out when Nidai did, but Soda was waiting outside the door.

He wasn’t sure for how long he stood there, watching red water swirl at his feet. When the water turned clear, he lifted his arm; and a deluge of bloody water escaped from a cushion between his skin and clothes. He stared at the water, at the lazy swirls of red, and suddenly he wanted it _gone._ He tore his clothes off in a frenzy, scrubbed at this hair and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed.

He was sobbing all over again by the time it was done. Tears and snot mixed with the water rolling off his body. The room was slick with steam and when he tried to support himself on the wall, he almost slid down it.

As promised, Nidai had clothes and a towel waiting for him. Naegi did what he must. When Nidai suggested he should go back to his room and take a nap, Naegi shuffled along behind him.

“Hey, Naegi!” Soda said brightly, probably hoping his happiness was contagious. (It wasn’t.) “Uh, bad day, right?”

Naegi glared at him. What did he think?

“J-just try to think of the bright side,” Soda said. “That was a good dose of despair –”

“ _Stop talking!_ ”

Had be been bigger, stronger, he would have shoved Soda up against a wall. As it was, he merely grabbed the other’s collar and stood on his tiptoes so he could try to mash their faces together.

“I don’t care if it was despair,” he ground out. “I don’t want despair. I _hate_ it! I hate despair. I hate it, I hate –”

“Naegi-kun!” Nidai’s shout of his name was accompanied by him wrenching Naegi away. Soda stared at him like a kicked puppy; he looked like he wanted to cry.

Good.

“But it’s despair!” Soda said. (Naegi growled at the word.) “Despair’s great. It’s awesome and . . .”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Nidai said. “Like how Naegi-kun needs to take a break.”

He held Naegi by the back of his neck and directed him away.

“H-hey, wait up!” Soda said, to Nidai’s frustration. Soda caught up to them, and Naegi was content to ignore him.

At least, he was. Until it happened.

“Say, Naegi, what Komaeda said a long time ago . . . You’re not really Enoshima-san’s kid, are you?”

Naegi paused, but Nidai kept a firm grip on him and told him to keep walking.

“Are you mad?” Naegi asked regardless.

“. . . Nah, just . . . I dunno. A bit disappointed. It’s okay, you’re still like my little brother!” Soda gave him a sharp-toothed grin and patted him on the back. Naegi snubbed him.

But he still noticed when Soda abruptly stopped following them. He was leaning on a wall with one arm; the other hand was pressed against his forehead.

“You okay?” Nidai asked.

“I-I’m . . . just a headache. . . It’s okay.”

To Naegi’s surprise, Nidai suddenly left his side. “Soda-kun, maybe you should –”

“Nah, it’s fine. See, I’m all good now.” Soda said, thrusting his chest out to prove his point.

Naegi wondered why Nidai seemed disappointed.

“Well, if you say so!” Nidai said with what sounded like forced cheer. “Come on, Naegi-kun. Let’s get you somewhere safe and warm.”

He took Nidai’s offered hand and shuffled along.

_Kuma . . . I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> S'up Komaru?


	87. The Aftercredits

The ocean was calm today. It moved in lazy waves, disturbed only the slightest as the helicopter soared through the sky above. Sleek, black-coated, it made good time towards the island in the distance. In the wake of the lead helicopter came others, and they formed a striking ‘V’ in the air.

Some distance away, upon the island’s shores, people watched the approaching fleet. A passing breeze shifted his bangs, and Togami Byakuya flicked his head to get them out of his eyes. In the reflection of his glasses, the front of the first helicopter could be seen. Togami did not seem intimidated. He drew himself up high, with all the silent strength and pride of one who had grown up as a ruler, and waited. A megaphone hung off his belt, a funny accomplice to the ironed suit he wore.

Behind him, beyond the sand and on the boardwalk, were two girls. Naegi Komaru and Fukawa Touko waited, knowing that their adventure had come to a close. Fukawa muttered something under her breath, fiddling with the taser in her pocket. Komaru smiled and without saying a word, reached over and squeezed Fukawa’s hand. The fidgeting stopped and Fukawa glared at Komaru, as if offended that the other girl would even think of trying to soothe her.

Sand whipped around as the helicopter hovered overhead. Togami hardly seemed to notice. The impromptu sandstorm, the roar of the machine before him, none of it phased him. The helicopter landed and even before the blades stopped turning, somebody was stepping out. Munakata’s hawkish self, dressed in a smooth suit that rivaled Togami’s, stood before them. Before long, the other helicopters had landed and soldiers were leaping out. Togami gave them only the slightest attention.

“There’s no need for that,” Togami said. “Things have been taken care of here.”

Munakata’s stare didn’t waver. “Our report stated that the city was under siege by Monokuma robots.”

“It _was_ ,” Togami said with the barest hint of a smirk. “As I said, it’s been taken care of.”

“I still intend to do a sweep of the city,” Munakata said. Behind him, Sakakura was helping Yukizome out of the helicopter. Yukizome looked around curiously, impressed with the futuristic – albeit damaged – architecture of Towa City. Sakakura, on the other hand, had locked onto the confrontation between the head of the Future Foundation and the strong-willed Heir. Sakakura stood behind Munakata, a hulking bodyguard just daring Togami to make a wrong move.

“Go ahead,” Togami said without a trace of worry. “It’s possible you may find one or two stragglers.”

Munakata waved and some, but not all the soldiers moved out into the city. Meanwhile, Tengan and his bodyguard, the Great Gozu, were strolling along the beachside, taking in the destruction.

“What happened?” Munakata demanded.

Togami explained. He told Munakata that a group of Enoshima sympathizers had unleashed a killer Monokuma army onto the city. He told Munakata about how the Monokumas had primarily targeted adults, and that they had even abducted and brainwashed a few unlucky kids (who had since had those dastardly helmets removed) and forced them to do their bidding. The causalities had been numerous, and the city’s hospitals were close to overflowing and in desperate need of blood and supplies.

“I see,” Munakata said. “What of the perpetrators?”

On the boardwalk, Komaru glanced at Fukawa. She’d argued with Togami about this very subject earlier. The Warriors of Hope had done a terrible thing; no one was questioning that. But they were only kids, and they’d been through such horrible things. Well, the young Towa had been a jerk, but Komaru thought the other kids could come around.

“. . . We don’t know where they’ve gone,” Togami said. “The Towa heir is responsible, but the girls lost track of her when they were fighting the Big Bang Monokuma.”

Munakata nodded. He pointed with his chin behind Togami. “Is that Naegi Komaru?”

All eyes were upon her. Komaru swallowed, and then trotted onto the sand.

“Um, hi! I’m Naegi Komaru. You’re from the Future Foundation, right?”

“Yes,” was all Munakata said to her. He had almost immediately turned back to Togami. “The Komaru from the email, correct?”

Togami smirked.

Munakata spoke. “Arrest him.”

“Wh-what?” Komaru gasped. She stepped forward and a soldier rudely elbowed her aside. A splash of sand rose around her as she fell.

“Y-you can’t do that!” Fukawa shouted, running towards them. “How dare you soil M-master’s clothes with your d-dirty hands –?”

“Her, too.”

Before Fukawa could change over to her other personality, they grabbed her. Togami’s wrists were already in cuffs and it was only a second longer before Fukawa joined him.

“H-hey, stop! What are you doing?” Komaru pushed himself to her feet –

Just in time for Sakakura to grab her.

“What about this one?” he asked.

“She has not committed a crime against us,” Munakata admitted. “However, she will need to be interrogated.”

“They haven’t committed a crime either!” Komaru said. “They rescued me, and we destroyed a bunch of Monokumas and saved the city. What did they do wrong?”

“Insubordination.”

Before she could figure out what the hell that meant, Sakakura pulled her away into one of the helicopters.

“Are you sure we should be so harsh on her?” Yukizome asked once Komaru was out of earshot. “She is Naegi-kun’s sister.”

“She needs to be questioned.” After a second, he added, “We will not hurt her.”

Yukizome nodded. “Let me talk to her first. I’m sure she’s scared.”

Munakata nodded. He was staring at the city.

“Try not to be too hard on them,” Yukizome said. “I know they disobeyed orders, but they are his friends. We’ve known from the start that their loyalty would be compromised.”

“I didn’t expect them to rally around Togami,” Munakata said.

“They haven’t,” Yukizome said, coming up to stand next to him. “I thought it would be Kirigiri-san they rallied around, but it wasn’t her either. It’s still Naegi-kun, even after everything. But, I guess it’s hard to blame them, huh? So many people who have never met him have pledged loyalty to him. It’s hard to imagine how the people who were actually with him must feel!”

She stopped at that moment, taking note of the tenseness in Munakata’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It always seems to spiral back to him, doesn’t it?”

“I know they defeated the Ultimate Despair, but he and his class are more trouble than they’re worth.”

“They must be a whole lot of trouble then,” Yukizome joked. “I know you don’t mean that. They’re just frustrated, like you. Nothing’s gone the way it should.”

“We cannot allow them to do as they please,” Munakata said firmly. “I need unity, especially once Ultimate Despair turns _him_ against us.”

Yukizome flinched. “That funeral was a setback, but at least we know from his appearance on the Nurse’s show that he didn’t mean it.”

Munakata groaned and rubbed his brow. “Even when he’s trying to help us, he causes trouble.”

“At least that near-uprising wasn’t against the Future Foundation as a whole. Just over your decision not to immediately assault their base.” Yukizome held her hand up when Munakata turned sharply and began to speak. “I know. It would have been a bloodbath with a low chance of success, and that’s why we couldn’t do it. So much of our efforts are against Despair cells that sometimes, I wonder if our men have forgotten how dangerous the _real_ Ultimate Despairs are. But that’s why you’re in charge! You’re the only one I’d trust with that kind of power.”

He nodded instead of thanking her, but Yukizome still acted as if he did.

“Sometimes, I wonder who would take over if something were to happen to you. Tengen’s the face of the Foundation, but he’s too old to run it the way you can. It would be a lot easier to know if Naegi-kun was here. They’d follow whomever he sided with. Ah, enough of my rambling. Let me go wear down his sister for you!”

With a cheery smile, Yukizome departed for the helicopter with Komaru and Sakakura. Munakata watched her go from the corner of his eyes. He observed Tengan and the Great Gozu, who were leading a squad into the city. Other soldiers were setting up a perimeter, fearful of a sudden Despair attack destroying their only way off the island. He glanced back at the helicopter holding Naegi Komaru, and sighed.

He doubted she would be as useful as her brother would have been.

* * *

 

It was late in the afternoon when the patrols returned from their routes. It had gone even better than Togami had suggested to them. They’d found robots, but they hadn’t attacked. They’d either been inactive, or at least stripped of their murderous programming. Munakata had made a call earlier, and supplies were just beginning to flow in for the relief effort. If all went as planned, then the residents of Towa City would be able to remain in the city, something that would be much easier on the Future Foundation and its resources.

Before they decided on that however, he had to handle other things. Even if he had wanted to, keeping these events a secret would be impossible. The Ultimate Swimmer, when she had returned, had boasted to everyone in earshot about what she had been doing. He’d already had confirmation from Kizakura that at least a few people had leaked that intel. And despite the circumstances, this was a victory against Despair. At least they could take advantage of that.

Which is why Tengan was currently at the center of half a dozen cameras. It was an unspoken agreement between them: Tengan handled press conferences that spoke of the Future Foundation’s benevolence and generosity, while Munakata handled those that required a show of strength. It was one of the things they still always agreed on; in the last couple of years, Tengan had been faltering in his duty to destroy Despair.

“Maybe the idiots in this city will finally agree to an alliance,” Sakakura griped. “Not that we need them.”

“We don’t,” Munakata said. “Having a standing city would be an asset, however.”

“They better have some gratitude after we saved their asses,” Sakakura said, conveniently overlooking that the Future Foundation hadn’t ordered this mission and in fact, had been actively against it. “What are you going to do with the traitors?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“But you’re not going to let them get away with it, are you?” Sakakura demanded. “You gave them a direct order not to come here, and they went and did it anyways.”

“I know. That’s what makes this difficult.”

Sakakura snorted. He seemed to be taking the disobedience worse than Munakata himself did. “Yeah, well . . . What the hell?”

Sakakura was staring over Munakata’s head at the podium where Tengan should be speaking to the cameras. Munakata turned to look. His eyes widened.

“. . . so then we tracked down where Ultimate Despair was keeping them, kicked down the doors and everyone was there!” Asahina happily babbled. True to her talent, Asahina was dressed in a one-piece bathing suit, and her hair was dripping enough that Tengan subtly moved his shoes out of the line of fire. Both he and the Great Gozu were staring at the interloper, unsure how to tell her to _go away_.

But that’s what Yukizome was for. Without prompting, she had walked onto the stage herself, greeting Asahina and trying to direct her away from the cameras. (“But I haven’t even told them about that big fight we had with the Monokumas!” Asahina complained as a fresh volley of questions started.) Yukizome did manage to gently urge her off the stage, but not before the damage was done.

“How much did she say?” Munakata demanded when Yukizome joined them. She had since passed Asahina off to some random grunts.

“Not too much,” Yukizome said. “She mentioned that she and her friends directed this rescue mission . . .  And she mentioned that Naegi-kun gave them the tip-off.”

Of course she had.

“Juzo, can you warn the Division Heads back at the base? The last thing we need is another ‘Free Naegi’ riot.” Munakata closed his eyes and slowly counted to five. “We can’t officially punish them either, now. Too many people will draw the connection between that and what happened here.”

A soldier ran up to them. “Sir! Asahina Aoi has been successfully isolated.”

“How did she get here?” Munakata asked. “Who allowed her on a helicopter?”

“I don’t believe she rode with any of us,” the soldier said.

“Then how did she get here?”

“. . . I believe she swam, sir.”

Munakata glared at him. Yes, Asahina had been wearing a bathing suit. Yes, she had been soaking wet. But they had to be realistic here.

“We are on an island several miles from the mainland.”

“I understand that, sir.”

He glanced back at Yukizome and Sakakura.

Yukizome shrugged. “Ultimate Swimmer.”

. . . Ultimates were truly some of the most annoying people.

Naegi Komaru had already been interrogated, and her testimony supported Togami’s claims that the younger Towa sibling was to blame. He doubted the blame should solely fall on her however, yet so far, he’d received no information on who else may be responsible. Nor had anybody been able to locate the younger Towa. That alone was troubling. And now he was back to square one on how to deal with the rogue members of Class 78.

He went to Togami first. Although he was now known worldwide to be an utter _prick_ , the Togami heir still knew how to manipulate the masses. (He’d also heard whispers that the pressure had caused Fukawa to faint, and there was no point in dealing with _that_ side of her.) Togami – who had taken off his handcuffs? – was waiting for him in the back, legs crossed, checking an imaginary watch as if bored.

“Have you changed your mind about our punishment?” Togami asked, and Munakata knew he was enjoying this.

“You knew your actions would have consequences.”

“My actions?” Togami repeated with a scoff. “The ones that earned the Future Foundation a major victory against Ultimate Despair and rescued a bunch of hapless hostages, including the sibling of the Ultimate Hope?”

“You disobeyed direct orders.”

“You simply told us to disregard that email,” Togami said. “You never said we couldn’t go to Towa City. Besides, if I recall correctly, Fukawa doesn’t actually work for you.”

“. . . Consider this your only warning.”

“Of course,” Togami said. “If I may offer a suggestion, you should check on Fukawa. I hear that the longer she’s restrained, the more _restless_ that other side of her gets.”

It would have been nice to put the Heir in his place, but there were too many cameras around. Although the Future Foundation controlled most of the non-Despair airwaves and thus, what they showed, one always had to be mindful of rumours. And if any of those images leaked to Ultimate Despair . . . that was just begging for a disaster. To his frustration, he found himself doing as Togami suggested and it seemed that no sooner than he had cleared the Writer, was Naegi’s sister glaring at him as she slipped past him to join her friend.

“You got a plan?” Sakakura asked.

“The easiest way would be to separate them and place them in separate Divisions headed by those we trust. However, I’m not sure even that would suffice.” Munakata frowned. “Keeping them entirely separate would be futile, especially if Kirigiri wants them for a publicity stunt.”

“So, tell her not to.”

“They are the survivors of the Killing Game. Even if we do not wish it, the public will demand their appearance. And I am not sure I trust Kirigiri.”

“Finally,” Sakakura mumbled. “I’m not the only one.”

“That entire class is poisoned by their fixation on Naegi,” Munakata continued. “They are loyal to him foremost.”

“Forget about that kid,” Sakakura said. “We don’t need him. We were fine without him.”

“Of course, we can survive without him,” Yukizome said, coming up behind the two. “It would just be easy if we didn’t have to be without him. He’s the most influential person in the world right now!”

Sakakura gave her a look that said: _Not helping_.

“He is,” Munakata said. “He makes a few speeches, offers a few meaningless platitudes, and the entire world eats it up. Is there no other Ultimate who can imitate that feat?”

“Not alive,” Yukizome said sadly. “There might be some who can imitate him and what he’s said before, but I don’t think any of them would be able to create original speeches. That talent belongs solely to Naegi-kun.”

“Not that it matters,” Sakakura said, “since nobody’s using that talent.”

“And it’s a good thing they’re not!” Yukizome said. “I thought they had realized it when they aired Enoshima’s funeral, but they haven’t tried to use him since. I guess they don’t quite understand just what Naegi-kun is. But if they ever realized . . .  I wouldn’t want that kind of power under their control.”

“Some of the greatest power in the world,” Munakata mumbled.

Sakakura frowned. “Munakata, you okay?”

“Yes. Why?”

“It’s that just for a second, you looked . . .” Sakakura rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure how to describe it. Different.”

Before Munakata answered, Yukizome spoke. “See! I keep saying you should get glasses.”

“I don’t need glasses!” Sakakura said.

“But you would look so handsome in them? Don’t you think so, Kyosuke? Haven’t you always thought Sakakura-kun would look handsome in glasses?”

The moment she had said that certain word, Sakakura had looked away sharply. Munakata, observing his friend’s discomfort, answered in the way he thought would best spare Sakakura’s pride.

“I haven’t thought about it at all,” he said. He missed the disappointed drop to Sakakura’s shoulders.

“Well, I still think Sakakura-kun should try them. But you should go talk to Asahina-san; we don’t want her saying anything bad about us.”

Munakata nodded and left to follow her advice. Sakakura was strangely grumpy and didn’t seem to want company. My, my. How very strange.

“Boys,” she sighed once she was alone. “They’re always so obvious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi reaches a breaking point.


	88. The Rock and the Hard Place

He wasn’t sure why he was calling her. He didn’t know how he could bear to call someone in the _Future Foundation_. It must have been because Kirigiri was part of Class 78 first, and the Future Foundation second. Had she not been. . . he wasn’t sure how things would have turned out, only that he may not have ended this day with a blanket wrapped around him, an arm looped around Alter Ego, and cradling the cellphone against his jaw.

Usually, Naegi was the one to speak first. This time he waited for her to speak. She didn’t seem to expect that because when she finally did talk, it was with a cautious, “Hello?”

“Kirigiri-san.”

“So, it is you, Nae . . . Makoto.”

He twitched. “What did you say?”

“My apologies. I was uncertain whether it was you at first, Makoto.”

“That’s my first name.”

“It is. Is that too personal?”

Kirigiri was using his given name. She had . . . she just started using his given name. Kuma had died, and the evening of that, Kirigiri started using his first name.

It felt like a trap.

“No, it isn’t. . . K-Kyo. . . Do I get to use your given name, too?”

“Yes, I’m fine with that. I think it’s about time we took that step.”

He wished he understood what was _really_ going on here.

“I am glad you called, as well. I have news for you,” Kirigiri said.

Naegi listened closely, and cocked his head.

“Is it about Kuma?”

“. . . That’s your pet bear, right? Why would it be about him?”

“Because you . . . you . . .” He held Alter Ego close and rocked back and forth.

“Because I what?” She sounded alarmed. He didn’t care.

“Y-you . . . Kuma . . . you . . .”

“Makoto! Are you okay?” She spoke sharply now.

“. . . You killed him.”

“Who’s dead? Makoto, talk to me. Who’s dead?”

“Kuma. You shot Kuma. The Future Foundation was trying to shoot me, but they missed, and you shot Kuma.”

There was silence on the other end. (Was that not an admission of guilt?)

But then she spoke. “No, we didn’t.”

“You . . .”

“Makoto, listen to me, _please_. No one in the Future Foundation shot him. If anyone had gotten within sniping range of Ultimate Despair, they wouldn’t give that away just so they could shoot a bear.”

“They weren’t trying to shoot him. They wanted to shoot _me_. Kuma got in the way and then they shot him and . . .”

“Who told you that?” she snapped at him, and he flinched at the loud noise. “Was it Ultimate Despair? Is that what they’re feeding you?”

She sounded mad. She sounded really mad, and he wasn’t sure why. He whined deep in his throat, and his free hand twitched. A vision swamped him: turning off the phone, making it all go away. He moved his hand, absently-mindedly copying what he had seen in his head –

“. . . I’m sorry,” Kirigiri said. “I . . . Makoto, _it wasn’t us_. Nobody here wants to see you dead.”

“You tried before,” he said. “When the Future Foundation sent that raiding party to save me, they tried to kill me.”

“Things have changed,” she said curtly. “The public’s learned of your predicament, and Munakata’s. . . You need to trust me. The Future Foundation did not try to kill you.”

Trust. He could trust Kirigiri. He _must_ trust Kirigiri. But why then, was he so reluctant to do so? If he trusted her, then all was well between them and he didn’t have to be mad at the Future Foundation anymore. But in return he. . . In return, who did he have to be mad at?

“Why would someone shoot him?” Naegi asked.

 “I don’t know. Makoto, listen to me: it wasn’t us. The Future Foundation did not kill your bear. The Future Foundation is not trying to kill you. Do you understand me? I wouldn’t let them do that.”

“But Kuzuryu-kun said. . . If it wasn’t the Future Foundation, then who?”

“I can’t answer that. You would know better than I.”

He sniffed. He had called Kirigiri up for an explanation, to feel better, but that wasn’t working. (But had he really? Had he really called her for comfort, and not because he needed someone to take his anger out on?)

“How do you not know?” he asked. “You’re the Ultimate Detective.”

She took too long to answer.

“You do know!” he said. “You have an idea!”

“Makoto . . .”

“Who is it? _Who shot Kuma?_ ”

“There’s only two major players in this world. If it wasn’t the Future Foundation, it must be the other.”

That wasn’t possible.

“That’s . . . that’s not right!” he said. “Ultimate Despair wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t do that to me!”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked sharply. “Do you really think they aren’t capable of that? That they wouldn’t stoop to murder?”

He wanted to say no. He _needed_ to say no.

But no words came to his lips. He was faced with an impossible choice: either the Future Foundation had killed Kuma and betrayed him . . .

Or Ultimate Despair had.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Kirigiri said. “We’ve secured your sister. Makoto? Can you hear me? We’ve _saved_ Komaru.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“. . . Komaru is safe.”

“Yeah.”

“Makoto, are you well?”

“I don’t think so.”

Either the Future Foundation had killed Kuma, or Ultimate Despair had.

“. . . Do you remember Gekkougahara-san? She misses you. Maybe it would be best if you talked to her again.”

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “Kirigiri-san, have you figured out Yukizome works for Ultimate Despair yet?”

“Are you certain about that? Do you know what you are suggesting . . .? No, of course you don’t.”

“I think I need to hang up now,” Naegi said.

“What are you saying?”

“I need to think.”

(Either the Future Foundation had killed Kuma, or Ultimate Despair had.)

“Makoto, it is not a good idea for us to end the conversation here –”

“Kyoko? If I don’t call you by tomorrow afternoon. . . then I got out.”

He mumbled farewell, and hung up.

He set the phone down. While staring at his palms, he had a sudden urge to scrub them. And he would have obeyed it, too, if the nearest washroom hadn’t required climbing up those stairs. He had to settle for wiping them on the mattress, still feeling disturbingly _dirty_ when he finished. He didn’t understand why. They looked clean to him. He hung up on Kirigiri as she tried to return the call, and then spoke to Alter Ego.

“Do you know anything?”

“About what happened with your bear? I’m sorry, I don’t.”

(Naegi wondered if he was lying.)

“Kirigiri-san says either you guys or Ultimate Despair had to have killed him. And she says it wasn’t . . .”

He couldn’t finish that sentence. Couldn’t allow himself to grasp the implications. For if that had indeed been the case, then Ultimate Despair. . .

He was facing a fork in the road, and each route led to an undesirable outcome. Someone had betrayed him; someone was a liar. Kirigiri said it wasn’t the Future Foundation, but maybe they had done it behind her back . . . No, no, no! Kirigiri always knew everything and she wasn’t ever wrong. But how could it have been them? They had given Kuma to him. Why would they have done something like that?

Naegi sat there, possibilities and questions flying through his mind. Until at last one thing became clear.

“I can’t stay here.”

Ignoring Alter Ego’s question, Naegi stood robotically and walked to the closet. Then, he reached into the closet’s corner, and pulled out the Kuzuryu mask.

“Follow me.”

He took Alter Ego upstairs and together, they walked into the prison. Mask bunched in his hand, Naegi walked straight up to the cell that held Iwata. The older man was fast asleep in his ratty excuse for a bed, in his cell that smelt like weeks of built-up sweat.

Naegi wrapped his fingers around the bars. “Alter Ego, cut out the locks.”

“You want me to . . .?”

“You can do it. The Monokumas did it the first time I tried to escape. That was how I got the prisoners out.”

Alter Ego glanced down at his paws. Slowly, the claws slid out. He didn’t seem to know how to handle them, and moved very carefully to avoid accidentally cutting anything.

It was much slower than when the Monokumas had done it before. Alter Ego went with a sawing motion, which made a loud screech that woke Iwata partway through. Naegi nodded in greeting, but kept his focus on the robot.

Finally, it gave way. Alter Ego hobbled inside, and peered over the edge of the bed at the person atop it. Iwata was slow to move. The moth-eaten blanket peeled away from pale, sagging skin. By the time Iwata pushed himself up into a sitting position, Naegi was inside the cell, too.

“Can you walk?”

Iwata nodded slowly. “What are you doing?”

Naegi set his jaw. “We’re busting out.”

Alter Ego hung out around Iwata, apparently concerned about the older man’s status. Iwata waved off help, so they had to wait as he eased his creaky muscles into remembering how to contract. Naegi pulled on the Kuzuryu mask as they waited and evidently, it still worked perfectly because Iwata jumped violently when he saw it.

“Naegi-kun, what is that?”

“The Imposter made it for me,” he said. “You’d get in trouble if anyone saw you walking around on your own . . . but they won’t bother you if ‘Kuzuryu’ is leading you. Come on.” He grabbed Iwata’s upper arm, mimicking the hold he had seen Nidai use when he had pretending to manhandle his fake mother.

Together, the three of them walked out.

They drew a few looks, but just as he had hoped, none of the soldiers bothered him. Even Soda didn’t stop them, although he gave them a confused look and raised an eyebrow. In fact, Soda scurried off when Naegi-Kuzuryu glared at him. More confident now, Naegi picked up his pace. Then dropped it again when it proved too much for Iwata to handle.

Then, they reached the point of no return.

“We’re stopping here?” Alter Ego asked.

Naegi bit his lip. “I’m not sure how to get past here. They can’t tell the difference between this mask and Kuzuryu-kun’s real face, but the guards at the entrance check your voice, too, and I sound nothing like him. That’s how they figured it out last time.”

Iwata spoke hesitantly. “If you don’t know how, perhaps we should turn back. This is an awfully big risk . . .”

“No! I’ll figure it out. I have to, I . . . I can’t be here anymore.”

“Naegi-kun. . .”

“You don’t understand! They . . . Kuma . . . Someone’s lying to me and I can’t do this. I can’t stay. I need to get out of here!”

“Calm down,” Iwata said. “You don’t want them to hear us.”

Naegi took a few deep breaths. He hadn’t even been aware that his nails had cut into his arms.

“You said the Imposter made this mask. How does he get past them? There must be a code or . . .”

“No,” Naegi said. “They’re programmed to recognize the Imposter’s voice no matter which disguise he’s using. But I don’t sound anything like the Imposter either.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing a way past this,” Iwata said from his place on the wall. He was slumped against it, hunched over like a hag in a fairy-tale.

“No, I can’t . . . We can’t give up here. We need to get out somehow.”

“I know that,” Iwata said with a trace of exhaustion. “But we can’t be stupid about it either –”

Naegi pulled him forward.

“We’ll improvise!” he said. “I’ll think of something when we get there.”

“Naegi-kun!” Iwata grabbed at the wall, but the smooth surface barely offered a grip.

“Just trust me. Just believe in hope. It’ll be fine –”

Naturally, that was exactly when the Monokuma stepped out.

As one of the night entrance guards, this was a big Monokuma in comparison to the ones he usually saw around. It was standing, but it really looked like it should be on all fours like a beast. The curved edges on this robot were not smooth, but jagged-looking. Like matted fur, or spikes. There seemed to be a natural curve built into its spine, so that it, too, was hunched and had little-to-no neck.

“Purpose for leaving?” the Monokuma demanded, tilting its head in an almost bird-like manner.

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He looked up at the Monokuma. . . and nothing. He had nothing. He had honestly believed that words would come to him, but now that the moment was here, he had nothing. He realized, as his back broke into a cold sweat, that Monokumas couldn’t feel hope. His talent couldn’t save him here. But he had to do something. Monokumas were incapable of feeling suspicion, but he would be surprised if Soda hadn’t programmed them to go after someone who walked away suspiciously, or if there wasn’t an invisible timer that would set off an alarm if he waited too long. He had nothing. But he had to speak.

He opened his mouth –

“Get out of my way,” ~~Togami~~ the Imposter said somewhere behind him.

Iwata spun around, inhaling sharply. Naegi turned quickly too, and found nobody. Nothing awaited him but the long stretch of empty hall. The Imposter didn’t seem to be hiding, and Naegi couldn’t think of a reason he would have either.

And then he realized he had turned his back on the Monokuma. He whipped around –

But the Monokuma was already shuffling off, returning to its original post.

“What was that?” Iwata asked.

“I was going to ask you that.”

Alter Ego tugged on his pants. “Did it work?”

Naegi looked down at him. “You . . .”

“You told us that the Imposter’s voice is valid no matter what he looks like. He sounds exactly like Togami-kun, so I had hoped . . .”

“You are a genius,” Naegi said seriously. “Are A.I.s supposed to be this smart? Because I’ve never read about anything that’s even a fraction of how smart you are.”

“I’m afraid I’m only as smart as my programming,” Alter Ego said, completely missing the compliment.

“Yeah,” Naegi said. “Well, your programming is definitely smarter than me because I never thought. . . We could have left ages ago. If I had just told you everything . . .”

“Please don’t think badly of yourself,” Alter Ego said. “My Master was very smart, and he told me that you figured out the truth behind the first trial when he couldn’t.”

“That wasn’t me,” Naegi said easily. “That was Kirigiri-san. Don’t take this the wrong way, but while you’re smart, she’s _really_ smart.”

“Master said that, too!”

Naegi smiled. He took Alter Ego’s paw in one hand, and Iwata’s hand in the other. Together, they stepped forward. Iwata faltered after that first step; his eyes were wide and nervous. Naegi squeezed his hand, and then pulled his two companions forward.

It was much easier crossing outside during the night. There was no sunlight to slap him, no light to adjust to. He wondered now, as he stared up at the half-moon, which time he preferred. In the before, he had always been a day person, but he felt like that might be changing.

“We have until ten,” Naegi warned them. “That’s breakfast. They’ll go looking for me once I don’t show up.”

“It is eleven thirty-six,” Alter Ego said.

“I’m sorry,” Iwata said quietly. “I was hoping that being outside would spark my memory, but I don’t remember this place. I can’t guide you.”

“You said east, didn’t you? Do you know which way that is?”

“We will know when the sun begins to rise,” Iwata said. He sounded distant, and Naegi knew why. Iwata was staring up at the stars; he held his hands out so he could feel the breeze. Naegi wondered what it was like to finally smell the outside air after spending months stewing in your own stench.

“Iwata-kun, I know what you’re thinking. Trust me, I wish we could sit down and enjoy this. But we need to get away from here. Somebody could look outside and see us and then they’d be _really_ mad, and when they’re mad bad things . . .”

“Yes, you’re right,” Iwata said. “We must get out of sight.”

It was Iwata who pushed them forward now, breaking Naegi out of the endless mental loop he had started to fall into. They trudged onwards into the dark. Where they were going was a question for the ages.

It took longer than Naegi expected to reach the ruins. That wasn’t good. Even worse, when he looked back, Iwata was leaning on a broken wall with one arm.

“Naegi-kun, I’m not sure . . . Perhaps I –”

“Yes?” Naegi said with more bite than he meant.

Iwata stared at him, and then sighed heavily. “Never mind.”

Naegi felt like he knew exactly what Iwata had been about to suggest. He pretended he didn’t though, for both their sakes.

“Come on.” Naegi held his hand out for Iwata. “It’s time to go home.”

And together, the three of them walked on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review:  
> Naegi and co. move further as Ultimate Despair begins their search.


	89. The Hunt

“What she’s like?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your niece, what is she like?” Naegi asked as he pulled himself over a piece of rubble blocking their path.

“She’s sweet,” Iwata said. “A very smart girl. Very passionate, very enthusiastic despite . . . what’s happened to the world. Try not to get into a debate with her. You’re not likely to win.”

“Is she as smart as Kirigiri-san?” Naegi asked curiously.

“That would depend on how you define ‘smart’,” Iwata said. “She isn’t nearly as hyper focused on details as Kirigiri-san is, but she’s very good at seeing the bigger picture. It’s why she was a good fit for Sixth Division. She’s very persuasive too; she has that ability to connect with people that Kirigiri-san hasn’t quite mastered yet.”

Naegi knew he meant it in good humour, but as he straddled the rubble, he couldn’t help but be insulted on Kirigiri’s behalf.

“Kirigiri-san doesn’t need to be able to connect to everyone,” he said with a sniff. “Everybody knows how smart she is, so they listen to her anyways.”

Iwata looked at him strangely. “Of course.”

Satisfied, Naegi hopped off the rubble. It was Iwata’s turn now. Iwata put his hand on the rubble, and then just stood there.

Naegi frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just . . .”

Alter Ego waddled forward. “I think I can help.”

Alter Ego stood next to Iwata, and then went onto his hands and knees. Carefully, Iwata stepped on his back. Alter Ego managed to hold that weight, and with that extra bit of height, Iwata carefully pulled himself over the rubble.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Naegi asked.

“I’m as fine as I can be,” Iwata said. “It’s just . . . it’s too late now. We’ve come this far. Thank you, Alter Ego.”

“I’m glad to have helped!” Punctuating that sentence was the sound of metal claws sliding from their sheaths. They couldn’t see what he was doing, but by the sounds it was obvious that Alter Ego was driving his claws into the rubble to support himself as he climbed over. Once Alter Ego made it to the top, Naegi held his arms out and let Alter Ego jump into them.

 “. . . If you were human, you need to go on a diet,” Naegi said as he set Alter Ego down.

One would think that it would be hard to see this late at night. Perhaps it was because of his previous attempted escape with Pekoyama, but Naegi wasn’t having too much trouble. The spectrum of grey and silver was as distinct as the vibrant colours of a circus tent. Alter Ego, his red eye shining bright, also navigated easily. Iwata didn’t seem able to see as well as they did, but he moved slowly and deliberately enough that he effectively felt out his surroundings before he moved.

“What’s her name?” Naegi asked.

“Sayomi,” he said. “Iwata Sayomi.”

Naegi nodded. “That’s a nice name. When we get there, can I meet her?”

“Of course. I was hoping you would ask.”

* * *

“This way.”

The sun had risen and with that, Iwata had taken the lead. They were going east. East to where, neither of them knew. But the land to the east was where the Future Foundation laid and thus, that way they must go.

“What’s the Future Foundation like?” Naegi asked wistfully. Longingly. He spoke calmly but inside, everything was wound tight, waiting for a chance to spring free with excitement.

“It’s a very busy place,” Iwata said. “There’s food, shelter, clean air . . .”

“I don’t see anything wrong with this air,” Naegi pointed out.

“We’re too close to that building,” Iwata said. “I imagine Ultimate Despair wouldn’t want the air they personally breathe to be too polluted.”

Naegi looked back at that behemoth shadow. Now that he thought about it, when they left Hope’s Peak he thought he remembered coughing a and getting a sore throat. He wasn’t entirely sure though. That had been such a long time ago and he barely remembered . . .

“We do good work at the Future Foundation,” Iwata said. “My boss, Gekkougahara Miaya, is very good at her job. There will be help for you there.”

“Help?” Naegi echoed. “Help for what?”

“. . . Well, we can start with that scar on your forehead,” Iwata said. “It clearly isn’t infected, but I would still like someone to look at it.”

“Oh, Mikan already did!” Naegi said cheerfully. “It’s fine.”

Iwata tossed his head. “We should keep moving.”

And they did. During the night he’d suspected it, but now in the day he knew for sure: it must have rained in the last few days. That could be the only reason that there were so many water-filled troughs lying around. He would have never known if he hadn’t come out here . . . What else had he missed while he had been locked inside?

They continued east. Naegi thought he’d be tired by now, but walking seemed to stave that off. Iwata, though . . . his spine had started to curl. Every time Naegi tried to bring it up, he was dismissed. To be fair, this didn’t seem like something he could help with. Maybe if they got lucky though, they could find a wagon for Iwata.

Although Iwata was guiding them, Alter Ego had been walking ahead. Abruptly, he stopped, the action so sudden that his body wobbled a bit afterwards. Alter Ego turned to face them.

“It’s ten,” he said.

They exchanged a look. Naegi swallowed.

“Let’s keep moving,” Iwata said.

They should have moved faster. They should have broken out into a run, or at least a jog. They did neither. They couldn’t. Their lagged pace was already hard on Iwata’s thin body. His every limb trembled like leaves shuddering in a windstorm. Alter Ego was sticking close to him, as was Naegi, but they could only help so much. Even though Iwata didn’t have much weight for his size, he was still bigger than the two of them and they couldn’t carry him.

What really bothered him though were Iwata’s feet. His stint in a prison cell hadn’t come with shoes. The first part, making it over the pavement to the ruined city had been okay. But shortly after that, Iwata began to grunt in pain, though they were lucky enough that he hadn’t cut himself. Both of them had ended up stripping off their shirts and tying them around Iwata’s feet. It wasn’t ideal, but at least Iwata wasn’t cringing in pain every time he stepped on something that wasn’t completely flat.

“Hold on. A second, please.”

Naegi and Alter Ego stopped. Panting, Iwata dropped to his knees, cupped his hands and pushed them under the surface of a small puddle. Naegi look at the shallow, brownish water critically and recoiled when Iwata started to drink.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Naegi asked.

“The color’s only from mud,” Iwata said. “We didn’t bring any supplies. You should drink, too. We won’t know how long it’ll take us to find another supply.”

That was true. Naegi had been so intent on getting out, he’d never thought about _what_ they’d need once they were out. He had Komaeda’s hoodie and that was keeping him warm, but they had no food or water.

Iwata shuffled aside for him. Naegi couldn’t even see his reflection in the murky water. He didn’t want to do this. This was _gross_. He couldn’t believe Iwata was just fine with drinking it . . .

 _But then we’ve both seen worse, haven’t we?_ he reminded himself. He wasn’t too sure about Iwata, but Naegi himself had seen awful thing. He’d seen blood, corpses, people taking knives and . . . He’d seen horrible things. What was drinking a bit of muddy water in comparison?

With that in mind, he was able to raise a handful of water to his lips. He closed his eyes when he drank, but he still did it.

He was still drinking when Iwata started to stand.

“Do you hear that?” he asked sharply.

Both he and Alter Ego shook their heads. It didn’t soothe Iwata much, who by now was on his feet.

“We need to move,” he said.

“Uh, okay,” Naegi said. “Let’s go . . .”

“Not that way!” Iwata snapped. “Inside!”

Though the buildings were ruined, that didn’t mean they couldn’t provide any shelter. The one they ducked into looked like it used to be a two-story building, but it was now missing its roof and half of the second floor. That still gave them an entire half a floor to hide under though, and that was where Iwata kept them, an arm held out to hold them against an inner wall. They waited there, neither Naegi nor Alter Ego understanding why.

Until the sound became louder and they understood.

The roar of the helicopter passed over them. Iwata kept them inside still until the sound grew distant enough that he felt it safe to check outside. He waved them forwards.

“They know,” Iwata said.

“So, what now?” Naegi asked. “We can’t let that stop us.”

“We stay close to buildings,” Iwata said. “We can’t travel in the open. Naegi-kun, give me that hoodie.”

Taking it off made him feel vulnerable, but he handed it over. Iwata immediately threw it on the ground.

“What are you doing?!”

“This color is too noticeable out here,” Iwata said. He proceeded dip his hands in the mud, and smear them over the hoodie. “This will be harder to see from the air.”

He gave the hoodie back. The outside of it was now covered in dirt and dust. Naegi let it dangle from his hand.

“We’ll have clean hoodies at the Future Foundation,” Iwata said.

Yes, but it wasn’t the same. This was _Komaeda’s_ hoodie. He couldn’t . . . he couldn’t go around throwing it in the mud! What would Komaeda say? What would he _do_ when. . .?

But Komaeda wasn’t here. Komaeda couldn’t get mad at him because Komaeda had left him and he didn’t . . . Komaeda didn’t care.

“How many members of Ultimate Despair will personally come after us?” Iwata asked.

“All of them.”

Iwata looked at him with dismay. “Then we better keep moving.”

They jumped from building to building, hiding under overhangs where they could. Helicopters continued to circle over the city, hunting them. In the distance, Naegi thought he could hear a siren wailing at Ultimate Despair’s headquarters. They passed into a house that, while its windows were blown out and there was a giant hole in the side, still had its roof. And it was in there that Iwata finally stopped following.

“I’m okay,” Iwata said. “I’m sorry. I –”

“We should stop for a while,” Naegi said.

“We don’t have time,” Iwata stressed. “We need to keep going.”

But Naegi gave him a look. “Can you do that?”

As much as he wanted to, that was a lie Iwata couldn’t tell. With obvious reluctance, Iwata slid down a wall and sat down. His skin was covered with a layer of sweat and grime. Naegi assumed he looked no better.

“I’m going to look around,” Naegi said. “Maybe there’s some supplies in here.”

The first thing he did was lock the front door. It was useless – he knew that – due to the hole, but it made him feel better. He walked down the brown-stained hall, past the drooping staircase and into what once must have been the kitchen. That or someone had randomly decided to leave a fridge here. He tore it open, but the smell that poured out was so horrendous he couldn’t keep it open for even a second. Coughing, he stumbled away towards the cupboards.

Nothing. That’s what greeted his eyes. He tore the cabinet doors open one by one, and his heart raced when in one he found a cereal box. But when he lifted it up, he found the back had been chewed out by rodents and it was empty. Even if it hadn’t been, the chances that it would still be edible would be low.

Having exhausted any chance of finding food in the kitchen, he took a moment to help Iwata over to a surprisingly intact armchair. Then he and Alter Ego went upstairs.

The back half of the hallway was a mess of rubble that he didn’t want to climb over. There was a bathroom near the top of the stairs that he checked, but no water came out of its taps. That left two more rooms. He and Alter Ego exchanged a look, and they mutually agreed to split up.

Grass cracked under his shoe. The sun was on the other side of the building and that made the room dark. Still, he looked through it and again regretted his lack of preparation; even if he hadn’t brought anything, he should have at least brought something to put things in. Because there were clothes and such left over here that might have been useful, and he did grab a couple of too-big shirts for Iwata and himself, but he could take nothing else.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alter Ego tear out of the other room in the direction of the stairs.

Had Alter Ego found something? Naegi picked his way over to the other room. It was another bedroom, and he wasn’t seeing anything too amazing. What it did have though, were two glass doors leading onto a balcony that had been sheared in two. One of the doors were cracked, and he moved to stand in the sunbeam pouring through it. He still wasn’t seeing anything special though, other than a nice view of the street –

He stepped forward. Was something moving down there?

He was pretty something was. Whatever it was, it was dark-coloured and hard to see in the drab surroundings so he didn’t think it was a Monokuma . . .

And that was right when Iwata called, “Naegi-kun, stay upstairs!”

He froze in place. Downstairs was quiet. He didn’t dare move. There was a strange buzzing sound, as if his ears were sucking in air to hear everything.

Which made the sudden yelp that much more frightening.

That didn’t sound like Iwata, but he didn’t think Alter Ego could make that sound. Hair rising on end, he went on his stomach at the top of the stairs, peering down to see what was going on.

He totally didn’t jump when Iwata called his name.

He raced downstairs. “Guys, what -?”

“We need to go,” Iwata said.

He still didn’t know what was going on, but as he passed by the front entrance and tossed Iwata one of the shirts he found, he saw part of something lying in the threshold. Something long and furry. A tail.

He asked without speaking, and Iwata repeated, “We need to go.”

“. . . Okay.”

They moved on. More than one helicopter was out now and Naegi couldn’t tell the difference, but Iwata seemed to remember enough of his Future Foundation days to pick out when they were close enough to be a threat. Unluckily – or was it luckily? – a light rain was falling, too. Enough to be felt, but not enough they felt a real desire for an umbrella.

A strange, echoing sound rang through the air. Like the sound of someone too close to a microphone . . . Actually, that was _exactly_ what it sounded like.

“Naegi Makoto.” As if it was thunder, his name boomed throughout the city.

Iwata yanked on his arm to keep him moving.

“Makoto, this is Queen Nevermind speaking,” the voice said. “I ask that you immediately return to headquarters so we can verify your wellbeing. If you are lost, please stay in the middle of the nearest street and wait for us. One of our servants will find you.”

“More reason to stay indoors,” Iwata muttered.

“I promise that your friend will remained unharmed,” Nevermind said. “If his welfare is what has been bothering you, then please do not worry. We have always been open to discussion about his treatment. You need only to ask.”

“There,” Naegi said, pointing at a bridge connecting two buildings that they could pass beneath.

“I know recent events have upset you,” Nevermind was saying, “but this is not the answer. This is not a healthy way to deal with the situation. We have grief counselor. . .well, Kamukura-kun has a talent for that. Makoto, please let us help you.”

“Fuck, we’ll get you another bear, okay?” Kuzuryu said. “We’ll get you two if – ow!”

The microphone overheard mumbling as the two argued. Alter Ego waved to them from the building he’d scouted and the two of them forced their way inside.

“I don’t suppose you know much about the area,” Iwata said.

“Nothing at all,” Naegi said. “Apparently, I was drugged when I came through here.”

“This is a large city,” Iwata said. “That works out in our favour. Plenty of hidey-holes for us. It . . . it’s going to be hard on the body.”

“You’ll be fine,” Naegi said. “I promise.”

“If I . . . Naegi-kun.” Iwata said his name with a certain bite, demanding attention. “You need to understand this: _you_ need to get out.”

He knew what Iwata was implying. He chose not to acknowledge what he had just said.

“Umm, I don’t want to interrupt,” Alter Ego said, “But I would like to remind you that I am not the only copy of this A.I.!”

“Okay, stop. Seriously, stop!” Naegi snapped. “We don’t need to talk about it because none of that is happening, got it? We’re going to escape, and we’re going to find the Future Foundation, and everything will be fine –”

Something barreled into Iwata’s side.

“Iwata-kun!” Naegi reached forward –

And was immediately met with a muzzle full of teeth.

The Shepard backed him right into a corner. Its lips were drawn over its gums, exposing huge canines as it barked with force like gunshots. He tried to move – no, he didn’t even do that; he _thought_ about moving – and the dog leapt at him, teeth snapping shut an inch from his nose, so close that flecks of spit landed on his face. It continued to jump in place, snarling and snapping at his face, holding him, just _daring_ him to run.

So focused was it on him, that it never saw Alter Ego coming.

Alter Ego was smaller, but that just meant his weight was more concentrated. When his body slammed into the dog, it moved. Naegi stumbled forward, eyes on Iwata who was still on the floor.

Pressure closed over his arm near the elbow. Terrible, terrible pressure, like a hammer had been slammed down on it and his bones were about to burst. A great weight bore him down and then he was on his stomach, arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle and _god that hurt -!_

_Shunk!_

His arm fell out of the dog’s mouth. Alter Ego wrenched his claws back and the dog collapsed. Part of its upper body fell across his back. Had Alter Ego just . . .?

Apparently, he was the only one who cared. For Iwata was pulling him free and Alter Ego was hovering around them.

“It had to be done,” Iwata said. “Let me see your arm.”

Ah, that was blood. But it didn’t hurt too much. Maybe because it didn’t feel like anything at all. It didn’t even feel that much like an arm. More like this weak appendage that happened to be attached to his body.

“You found clothes upstairs. Maybe we can find something to help. A sock we can tear the end out of,” Iwata muttered to himself. “Stay here.”

He hated watching Iwata walk up stairs. It was obviously hard on him. They should have let go looking. (It didn’t even hurt that much . . .) Instead, he sat down and waited, turning his head away from the dead dog.

(Forgetting that where a dog might be, its owner couldn’t be far behind.)

. . . Was that truly Tanaka? He hesitated to say yes because Tanaka – because _humans_ – didn’t walk like that. Not with their body bent, chest almost parallel to the ground, bobbing up and down as they move. Not with fingers splayed as if they were knives and would slash each other open if they dared touched. And only in movies would they sniff around like that, with dilating nostrils and upper lips pulling up over their gums. But Naegi knew of no person that wore that long scarf or trench coat, nor any animal with such striking red eyes.

Tanaka heard him the second he moved, and his head snapped around. His spine uncurled, like a cobra about to strike. He stood there in the building threshold, a dark demon blocking the path ahead, and extended a hand to Naegi.

That’s what Tanaka started to do, at least. Then, however, his eyes found the dog crumpled by Naegi’s feet. He grunted in surprise, and then his eyes started to swirl. His teeth showed and he _snarled_.

He ran.

The hole in the wall was full of light, calling him forward. But then Tanaka scuttled into the center, arms over legs like a spider, and there was no more siren call. Naegi pushed deeper into the building, with Tanaka following behind, between him and both exits. Tanaka moved slowly, close to the ground, a sheepdog herding his quarry.

His back hit the corner of the staircase and he glanced up it. Alter Ego and Iwata were up there, so very close, but he couldn’t bring himself to call for them. Not when Tanaka was there, all rumbling growls and coiled muscle. Tanaka would rip Iwata apart with his bare hands and chew out his throat – he honestly believed that in the heat of the moment.

There was a door tucked away under the staircase that he hadn’t noticed before. Naegi took one look at Tanaka and pushed through it.

There was a gap in the staircase halfway down. Naegi made a snap decision and lowered himself off the ledge. The landing was a shock, but it didn’t hurt, though the coldness of the water awaiting him gave him a shock. The foundation of the basement had buckled in some places. He knew that because light, barely enough to see by, was pouring in at some places. Water had entered, too, and it was knee-high. He could hear more coming in from the rain outside.

He waded through the water, feeling with his hands as Tanaka opened the door upstairs. He touched _something_ – couldn’t see what – and whatever it was, he could duck and squeeze under it. It left him in a little cavity with things poking his sides and back, and the only thing he could see was the staircase.

Walking with that slow, patient gait, Tanaka reached the edge of the gap in the stairs. He took a moment, and then propelled himself over the gap like a tiger. He made a soft thud as he landed. Then, he was out of sight, leaving Naegi to wait in the cold, dripping darkness. He could hear Tanaka moving about, hear the rippling of the water as he disturbed its surface. Most of all, he could hear Tanaka sniffing. Had Tanaka not been so close, he might have splashed himself with water to try and drown out his scent.

Tanaka passed in front of him. Naegi pressed back further into his little cavity. Tanaka had stopped, giving Naegi a good view of his profile.

Slowly, Tanaka turned to face him.

They stared at each other for a good few seconds. Tanaka inhaled deeply and the punctures on Naegi’s arm throbbed, as if Tanaka was drawing the blood out of them. Once again, Tanaka extended his hand.

Tanaka huffed when Naegi refused to take it. He walked away. Naegi stayed put, not the least bit fooled.

Not that it mattered because Tanaka swung around back, reached inside and grabbed him by the shirt.

“Get off! Get off!”

It took a very strong person to run with wild animals, and Tanaka was no exception. His arms were steel chords, his legs brick walls so that when Naegi kicked them, he hurt himself more than his target. With his feet submerged, there wasn’t enough friction to hold his ground, and Tanaka pulled him out. Next thing he knew, Naegi was in a headlock, pulling at Tanaka’s arm to relieve the crushing pressure while Tanaka was manipulating something in his other hand. Then one end of the long-chained handcuffs he had been carrying snapped around Tanaka’s own wrist, and he was reaching for Naegi’s next. Naegi, swiftly running out of options, snapped at the approaching hand. Tanaka bopped him on the nose like he was a misbehaving puppy.

“Get away from me!” Naegi hissed, digging his nails into Tanaka’s thighs. Tanaka shook his head in exasperation, and then tightened the headlock until Naegi stopped hurting him –

And then they were both in the water.

Naegi coughed, and raised his head. Tanaka groaned next to him, rubbing his head where Alter Ego had leapt off the stairs and landed on him. The robot’s head was just barely above the water and Naegi _really_ hoped he was waterproof.

But he couldn’t worry about that yet. He grabbed the loose handcuff and charged, throwing his weight forward so that the attached Tanaka slid across the ground. He groped at the sides of the cavity until he found something suitable, and then locked the cuff around it.

He tore out of the cavity and Tanaka’s reach just as Tanaka sprung. The chain stopped him short, sending him back into the water with a splash. Tanaka scowled and reached inside his pockets.

His eyes widened. He started feeling around the water.

The key must have fallen out of his pocket. Who knew how much time that gave them? Naegi grabbed Alter Ego and ran for the stairs. His arms shook, but he lifted Alter Ego until he could stand on his head and reach for Iwata’s waiting arm. Naegi pushed up from beneath and together, he and Iwata lifted Alter Ego onto the stairs. Then, it was his turn. Naegi leapt for Iwata’s hands and climbed the wall with his feet as the other two pulled him up.

He looked down at where Tanaka was watching him.

“Don’t come after me,” Naegi grunted. He took the thin piece of fabric Iwata handed him, pressed it to his bleeding arm, and led the other two out of the basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I replied to someone's comment that next I was going to kill that puppy Naegi once met?
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi and co. try to break out of the city.


	90. The Breaking of the Fellowship

The alarm was beeping, and Kirigiri made no motion to turn it off.

She stared at her blank cellphone, waiting even though she understood it was hopeless. Still, even as she changed into her day clothes, she couldn’t take her eyes off the device’s screen, just in case. No call came though and once she was dressed, there was nothing she could do but accept the truth.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the other side of the room. She took a few seconds to stare, wallowing in the nostalgia. Ever since taking on the role as the dutiful Future Foundation employee, Kirigiri had taken to wearing business jackets and blouses. It had been a while since she had donned her old outfit. Considering the task she was about to embark on, however, she had a feeling this choice would serve her better.

Naegi had claimed that if he didn’t call this morning, that meant he had successfully escaped Ultimate Despair. A reasonable person would dismiss that as a fantastic claim. If Naegi had proven one thing to her though, it was that you should never underestimate him. Thus, if Naegi had claimed not calling would mean he had escaped and he had not called . . . she was inclined to believe he had pulled it off.

But while he may have accomplished one miracle, that did not mean he was in place to perform more. The journey from the Future Foundation to Ultimate Despair’s lair was long, and she doubted he knew the way. It was up to her then to cross that distance, to remove that last obstacle between her and her goal. Finding Naegi would be more than difficult, but she would have to trust in him and his uncanny luck.

She walked out of her room, shut the door –

And paused.

Someone stared back at her. That person blinked, then tilted their head slightly to one side.

Smiling slightly, eyeing the bag in her hand, Yukizome asked, “Kirigiri-san, are you going somewhere?”

* * *

_Thump. Thump._

That was the only sound that could be heard. The soldiers moved as one, sweeping the streets in a fixed pattern. Little Monokuma robots followed alongside, splitting from the column of soldiers to leap into buildings or investigate holes. Above, helicopters roared as they travelled in a zig-zag line. Within one, a scowling figure leaned out of the door and held a spyglass to his single eye. His faithful bodyguard hovered behind him, ready to haul him back to safety if required.

Below, Nevermind stood on the turret of the tank she had once taken Naegi out on. Surely, she had never expected to use this in search of the boy himself. But Naegi had gone missing, and it was her job to search for him . . . but that didn’t mean the Queen of Novoselic should go tromping around on foot through this filthy city.

On a high point nearby, Soda was working on a speaker, making sure it was loud enough that their voices would project across the entire city. Hanamura was cooking inside a van that Saionji was slowly driving around; vents in the side sprayed the area with the scent of the Chef’s cooking in hopes that hunger would lure the lost boy back in.

Back at headquarters, Koizumi kept her sharp eyes on the various security monitors. It was doubtful Naegi would be found in their sight because that would mean he hadn’t strayed far away, but they weren’t ready to give up. Tsumiki sat nearby. On her lap, curled up like a sleeping pet, was Naegi’s stuffed rabbit.

Tsumiki glanced up, and then quickly looked down again. Then she looked up. Standing not far away was Kamukura himself.

She approached. “K-Kamukura-kun?”

He looked at her.

She flinched, but didn’t back down. “I was wondering if you could bring Makoto back for us.”

Kamukura stared at her.

“. . . I can’t.”

“But it’s dangerous out there!” she cried. “He could be hurt or lost . . . What if he’s trying to get back but he can’t because he’s injured?”

“Tsumiki-san . . .”

“He needs help!” Tsumiki said. “I th-thought you liked Makoto.”

“Even if he doesn’t like Makoto, he should still help,” Koizumi groused. “We’ve been letting you live with us and eat our food for years now.”

“You’re not . . .”

“You can at least try to be a little grateful for everything you’ve mooched off us,” Koizumi said.

“Listen to me for a second,” Kamukura said. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t bring him back. I said I _can’t_.”

The girls paused. Tsumiki started, “But you . . .”

“I have many talents,” Kamukura said. “My Ultimate Analyst talent alone places me on a higher mental level than you. But being talented does not mean I am divine and Naegi’s hope, his luck, they are things I do not understand. Naegi is a black spot in my sight. I can look for him, but that does not mean I will find him. I don’t know where he is.”

Tsumiki’s face fell. “Even you can’t find him.”

“But he said he can try, didn’t he?” Koizumi said.

Kamukura shook his head. “If I went after him now and brought him back again . . . He can’t handle that.”

Koizumi scowled and went back to her camera feeds, watching as Nidai argued with Owari and the Imposter over whether they were healthy enough to assist in the search.

Back in the city, the soldiers continued to march. With so many robots already present, the addition of one more stirred no distrust. Even when the little robot watched them and didn’t move, nobody noticed. When the pack of soldiers passed, Alter Ego ran back into a building. He scanned the room for other Monokumas, and then knocked on the wall.

A thick, dark blanket was shoved out of the fireplace. Iwata and Naegi crawled out of their hiding place, knees black with soot. Naegi rolled up the blanket and tossed it over his shoulder, then joined his friends by the window.

“See that sign?” Iwata said, pointing outside. “It means we’re close to a route out of this city.”

“How close?”

“Probably within ten miles.” He sighed. “If we had a vehicle, that would be close.”

“So, if we get moving, we should be out of here by tonight,” Naegi said.

“It would be best if we waited until night to cross,” Iwata said. “It will be harder to find shelter at the border. But for now, we can make our way closer.”

With Alter Ego keeping lookout, they walked in the direction of the sign. Naegi was starting to feel the roots of exhaustion now. When he stood for too long in one place, the ground would invariably sway and only quick shifting of his weight kept him upright. He felt hot and grimy all over – even in his head – and a soft ache pulsed at the front of his brain. He wasn’t exactly, but he knew that if they stopped too long, that strange fragile sensation in his stomach would become ravenous. Not only that, his inured arm really hurt.

“There.”

That thing Iwata gestured towards was hardly a house. More like a heap of matchsticks stacked atop each other with some stone and bricks tossed on top as decorations. That seemed to be why Iwata liked it though, and he led Naegi over to a small tunnel they climbed inside. It would be risky to stay here, but no more than it would be to stay anywhere else.

His legs gave in the moment his back found support. His arms lay limp at his side, right wrist resting at a strange angle. Iwata was slumped over nearby, his body following the edges and outline of the rubble as if he were made of goo. Alter Ego had nestled himself in the only entrance, blocking the outside from them. Though the omniscient mist kept them from getting too hot, the small space still felt small and sweaty. He closed his eyes, hoping that would make it better.

He wouldn’t say he had fallen asleep, for he was aware of the many sounds around him. He heard the booming megaphones, the clomping and splashing of heavy boots, even the murmurs of Alter Ego when another patrol grew near. He sensed Alter Ego slipping out from time to time, although he wasn’t sure why. Iwata, he was deaf to, given as the man had lapsed into sleep. Naegi felt raindrops dropping onto and sliding down his back, licking up his body heat as they passed. Though, although he was aware, he could not move. His flesh had hardened into steel, anchored to the spot. He wasn’t sure how long Alter Ego shook him until he could move again.

“It’s getting dark,” Alter Ego warned.

“Let him sleep,” Naegi mumbled. “He needs it.”

His stomach growled. Naegi groaned. He brought his knees up to his abdomen, putting pressure on it to try and subdue his hunger.

“Think you can steal some food?” Naegi joked.

“Um, I don’t know . . .”

“I was kidding. Don’t worry about it.”

He was tired. It’d been a full day without true sleep, and that wasn’t normal for him. He felt stuck to the ground; his eyelids shut on their own and really didn’t want to open again.

He guessed Alter Ego let them rest for another hour. Naegi forced rubbery bones to bear weight again, and rubbed his legs to wake up the muscles. Iwata took effort to wake, and Naegi wasn’t sure if that was a reason to worry.

“Could you scout for us?” Iwata asked Alter Ego.

They watched the little robot wobble out into the streets. Then Iwata turned to Naegi.

“This may end up being the easy part,” Iwata said.

Naegi raised an eyebrow and lifted his injured arm.

“Yes, but they don’t _want_ to hurt you,” Iwata said. “What waits out there, however . . . I don’t know anymore. The world can change drastically in a few months. Not everyone out there is our friends.”

“I’ll tell them I’m Hope,” Naegi said with a shrug.

“That could make things worse,” Iwata said. “I doubt Ultimate Despair would want their supporters to hurt you, but they wouldn’t let you pass either. And as for what the rest of the world thinks of you . . . I don’t know.”

“I’m _Hope_.”

Iwata stared at him. “Some people are too concerned with surviving to worry about things like that.”

Naegi wrinkled his nose. They must be badly off if they could disregard something as important as that.

“Naegi-kun, remember what I told you: _you_ need to get out.”

Once again, Naegi ignored him.

Alter Ego returned. “There’s somewhere you can hide near the border, but once you get there . . .”

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Iwata said. “Lead the way.”

And he did. The helicopters seemed to patrol less around here, but that just meant it was easier to hear Ultimate Despair when they got on the speakers.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Kuzuryu said. “We’ll stop fucking around with your friends. That’s what’s got you so pissed off, right? I’m serious, we get it. You can stop running around and let us take you back home.”

Naegi fought an urge to cover his ears.

“. . . Tanaka’s not mad at you,” Kuzuryu blurted out. “Yeah, he was a little upset when he realized you killed some of his dogs, but he gets it, okay? He wants you to know it was heat of the moment and he wasn’t going to hurt you. They were just dogs . . . Not like that means Kuma was just a bear!”

“Alter Ego, I see why you were worried,” Iwata said.

Naegi did, too. For standing on the highway that led out of the city, positioned on regular intervals on the cleared land on either side of it, were Monokuma sentinels. They surrounded the city in a ring, waiting.

The speakers squealed.

“Look, we’ll let your friend go!” Kuzuryu said. “That’s how serious we are about this. You come back with us, but your friend can keep going. We’ll drop him off if you want – we’ll let you watch.”

Iwata clamped down on Naegi’s arm, threatening him silently in case he dared to accept that offer.

“We could try throwing a rock to distract them,” Naegi said.

“I don’t think that will work,” Alter Ego said. “They are meant to respond to sight, not sound.”

“Do you know how they work?” Iwata asked.

“Yes,” Alter Ego said. “I feel it in this body’s programming. “They are meant to do nothing more than await Naegi Makoto’s presence. When he is spotted, the Monokumas will send out an alarm that will draw others to the location.”

“Closing in on their quarry like a pack,” Iwata said humourlessly.

“So, if we could falsely trigger that alarm, that would give us an opening, right?” Naegi said.

Iwata lit up. “Do you have a mask of your own face?”

“No. Just Kuzuryu-kun.”

The solution was so clear and yet, they had no way to make it happen. To make things worse, his stomach growled. That noise broke the dam. Saliva pooled in his mouth as he unwillingly thought of home and hot meals. He shook it off, but when he closed his eyes, he saw a plate full of food.

 _Shut up,_ he told his stomach. _It’s only been a day. People can go_ weeks _without food. This is nothing_.

He glanced at Iwata’s thin frame. Although he was not as skinny as either Owari or the Imposter, his bones still jutted out in places they shouldn’t. Naegi pinched his baby fat on his cheeks; if Iwata wasn’t complaining, he didn’t deserve to.

The moon rose higher. They waited, but the Monokumas did not shift. Naegi wondered if he could take them in a fight, but quickly tossed out that idea when he remembered watching them fight each other with swords and spears. He tried to think, but his mind wasn’t working all too well; it even took him a bit to realize the ground was rumbling, and it wasn’t his imagination.

“Look out!”

They dove into the shadows. A minute later, a tank rolled by. Even in the setting sun, Queen Nevermind’s white dress made her easy to see. She was standing on the turret, Mioda crammed in next to her, and Naegi held his breath when he remembered how sharp the Musician’s hearing was.

When they were past, Iwata murmured, “The helicopters seem to be getting closer, as well. I’m not sure how, but they’re narrowing the search area down.”

“Then we need to move sooner versus later,” Naegi said.

“I wonder . . . how much do they know?” Iwata asked. “They must know something if they’re able to make a guess at which direction we’re going.”

“But it’s not like that’s very hard,” Naegi said. “They have cameras outside the entrance. They could have seen which way we started going.”

“Cameras? I . . . I . . . Naegi-kun, does that mean they know you escaped using that mask?”

“Probably.”

“If they know, then they must be looking for his face as much as they are looking for yours!” Iwata said. “Perhaps we can set up a false signal.”

“So, we plop it on a stick, set it down, and wait for them to go to that?”

“That’s not enough,” Iwata said. “They may be robots, but once they grab it they’ll realize it was fake. We need more time.”

The two of them thought silently.

Alter Ego tapped Iwata’s ankles.

“I can run,” Alter Ego said.

“No,” Naegi said.

“I can! We use face recognition software to identify Despairs; the body barely matters!” Alter Ego said, wobbling back and forth on his tiptoes. “I’ll put on the mask and lead them away. I can buy you a lot of time!”

“No!”

“But I – “

“We’re not doing that,” Naegi said. “We can’t do that. We’re not. We _can’t_ -!”

Iwata grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t speak too loudly!”

Naegi reluctantly shut himself up.

“. . . I understand why you’re afraid,” Alter Ego said. “I am, too, but I know I can do this. Please, Naegi-kun, Kirigiri-san asked me to help you and I _know_ I can do this. It’s my turn to be brave now, just like you and Master were.”

“If they catch you . . .”

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s more than one of me,” Alter Ego said. “No matter what happens, we’ll see each other again. I may not remember any of this, but that doesn’t mean it’s not me!”

“Alter Ego . . .”

“It’s only goodbye for a little while,” Alter Ego said. “I’ll try to find you two again, afterwards.”

Before Naegi could say anything, Iwata grabbed his shoulder.

“It must be this way,” Iwata said.

Naegi didn’t disagree, but he didn’t agree either. He watched silently as the mask was passed from man to machine. The mask was smeared with dirt and wrinkled, plus it really didn’t fit that well on Alter Ego’s head, but they were dealing with robots here. They would have to hope they weren’t _that_ intelligent.

“Alter Ego . . .”

Alter Ego wobbled over, and leaned against Naegi’s side.

Naegi rested his chin on the robot’s head. “. . . I’ll see you later, okay?”

With that, the strings were cut. Alter Ego marched off into battle. Iwata and Naegi, unable to see where he was going, waited together. Above them, clouds rolled lazily across the sky. Somewhere, a dog howled.

Then, the peace was broken by the loudest sound they had ever heard.

It was like Mioda’s music amplified to twice the volume. The siren was high-pitched, the perfect frequency to make sure everyone listened. They clamped their hands over their ears as the ring of Monokumas broke. Where exactly they were running, Naegi didn’t know, but he surely knew who they were pursuing.

“Now!” Iwata yanked him to his feet.

The ground shook as Nevermind’s tank passed nearby, roaring through the street towards the same place the Monokumas were headed. The memory of Iwata’s sweaty grip was hot on Naegi’s wrist as they ran. The shock of his feet hitting the ground ran up his bones. The distance wasn’t closing nearly fast enough. Though he was breathing heavy and feeling the burn in his legs, it felt like he was running in place.

Iwata’s energy gave out first. He stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own lagging feet, and it would have warranted sympathy, except they didn’t have time for that. Naegi grabbed him, yanked him and when their eyes met, he saw a surge of adrenaline flow into that body. Although Iwata couldn’t quite keep up with him, those stick-like legs started to move again.

There was a ditch in next to the road, and the two leapt inside. Naegi pressed himself against the slope as water seeped into his already-wet shoes. Iwata’s ribs showed through his shirt as he panted.

“Did we make it?” Naegi asked.

“If they spotted us, I dare say we will find out very soon,” Iwata said. “However. . .”

Iwata trailed off, letting the alarm still blaring in the distance say everything.

“Should we go?” Naegi asked.

“In a moment,” Iwata said. “Drink.”

Iwata didn’t follow his own advice. He gripped his head, breathing heavily, back arched. Naegi couldn’t help with the exhaustion, but there was one way he could.

“Sayomi will be so happy to see you,” he said. “I don’t know what she was expecting, but it won’t be you rescuing the Ultimate Hope all by yourself. You’re going to be a hero, Iwata-kun! I can’t imagine how proud she’s going to be.”

Iwata chuckled. “I dare say your friends will be proud of you, too.”

“I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Naegi and Iwata continue east.


	91. The Journey

Being out of the city didn’t mean there weren’t houses. Past city was suburban, and the distance between houses grew longer the further you went. They’d already waded past a good portion of the suburban section by the time they left the “city”. Now, they were closer to country and the difference showed. The city had been in ruins and looted, but the half-destroyed buildings everywhere meant that if Ultimate Despair hadn’t been around, a good amount of people would have been able to carve out homes. Out here, however, it was different. The houses were spaced with enough room around them that the attackers had pulverized them. There were no mounds. These rubble piles were flat. Some of them had their bits and pieces scattered over the distance; others had parts of walls rising from the ground, but nothing resembling roofs. The destruction was just so much more complete here.

That didn’t work well with Iwata, who had liked the shelter of the city. To Naegi’s surprise, he turned them away from the homes and towards the surrounding forest. That was another difference; there had barely been trees in the city. Though there had been tons of weeds, grass and moss. That being said, these things he saw now weren’t _trees_. These were more like gnarled skeletons, reaching up towards the sky with a thousand fingers – if they had proper branches. Few of them did, and even less had leaves. The city, in its destruction, had been beautiful. This was the opposite. He was walking in a graveyard, and the layer of twigs and branches cracking under his feet were the bones of the fallen.

“What happened?” Naegi asked.

“Poison,” Iwata said. “Acid rain. Pollution. It could be several things.”

“I bet it was beautiful once,” Naegi said.

Softly, Iwata said, “It was.”

They slept in the woods. This forest had been old and many of the trees had large roots, roots that tunnelled through the ground and then popped above ground again, or left hollows near the tree’s trunk. Iwata picked one that suited him, and then started digging so that they could both fit. He tried to, at least, but not long after he began, his eyes shut and didn’t reopen. Naegi silently took over the task.

It was cramped and hot. Iwata was still unconscious when Naegi shoved him inside the hole, and that made it difficult to position him so that they would be comfortable. Not that Naegi thought they could find positions that were free of discomfort. Iwata’s bones stuck into Naegi’s flesh. Yet, he was tired enough that he drifted off anyways. He didn’t even realize it. To him, it was like he had shut his eyes and then it was bright morning. He was still tired. And hungry. _Really_ hungry.

He was distracted from his hunger when he spotted a millipede crawling up his leg. With a very manly squeal, he exploded out from the cavern, rolling across the ground in his haste to shake it off. Though definitely overkill, it worked. He watched the disoriented arthropod stagger off and couldn’t help but wonder . . . what did they taste like? He ran his tongue over his teeth. Would the shell crack like an egg? Would its legs still be moving when he . . .?

 _Gross_. He shuddered and quickly scanned his body for more insects.

“Iwata-kun,” he hissed. “Wake up!”

Iwata did and Naegi could tell right away that his body was stiff. Naegi’s own was a little funky: his legs were sore, and there was a crick in his neck, but it wasn’t that bad. Iwata grimaced though when he pulled himself from under the tree.

“We can head back to the road,” Naegi urged. “It’ll be easier to walk. . .”

“No,” Iwata said quickly. “It will be swarming with Ultimate Despair’s goons by now.”

“But how . . .?”

“Listen.”

Naegi did. He didn’t hear anything.

Then, he realized that was the problem.

“They caught Alter Ego,” he whispered.

“Or Alter Ego abandoned the mask and they discovered it was a fake,” Iwata said. “We don’t know how it ended. Depending on what happened, however, Ultimate Despair may know you broke their perimeter. At the very least, they’d be mad not to consider that. We’re very lucky nobody came across us last night.”

“. . . If you were so worried, why didn’t we keep going?”

“We’d already spent one night without sleep. We couldn’t afford another. Strange things happen to the minds of those who are sleep-deprived,” Iwata said.

Naegi’s stomach didn’t growl. It snarled.

“The first few days are the worst,” Iwata said with sympathy. “Afterwards . . . you get used to it.”

Naegi didn’t ask how he knew.

They moved on. They’d only been walking for a few minutes when Naegi noticed that Iwata had shed the shirts he’d been using as shoes. When he pointed it out, Iwata merely gestured behind where he had thrown the scraps – because they were just scraps now.

“You can’t keep walking in bare feet,” Naegi said flatly. He shrugged off his shirt. “Here.”

“It won’t last long.”

“Then we need to find something else.”

“Naegi-kun, you . . .”

“I _know_ ,” he said. “I need to get out. How? I don’t know where the Future Foundation is – I don’t know what they _look_ like. I’m in the middle of nowhere and I don’t know what to do, or half the things you know. I can’t do this on my own!”

“. . . You will need to do as I tell you,” Iwata said.

“That’s what I’ve been doing!”

“I . . . Follow me.”

He didn’t like it, Naegi could tell. But Iwata turned them back towards the road. He moved carefully, mindful of his bare feet and the sharp ground waiting to ensnare him. To make matters worse, he had refused Naegi’s perfectly reasonable offer to borrow his shoes or shirt! Really, it was –

Something flashed in the sky.

Iwata’s hand snapped over his wrist and yanked him back much harder than Naegi would have thought capable. Yet he didn’t fall; Iwata caught him just long enough to keep him on his feet, then threw his arm out in front of Naegi. Those grey-flecked eyes were narrow and commanded all attention.

“Something’s crashed,” Iwata said after a pause. “I think it may have been a helicopter.”

Naegi had automatically stepped in that direction when he heard there was a crash and thankfully, Iwata seemed to agree with him. At least he was leading them towards the sound.

“Iwata-kun, you said you were a bodyguard in the Future Foundation.”

“In essence, yes. Why?”

“Just thinking aloud.”

In the twisting, cluttered maze of the forest, Naegi wasn’t sure how far away that helicopter would have been if they could have travelled towards it in a straight line. All he knew was that it took too long to reach. But it was a helicopter, and it was downed. Even if it had dove head-first into the ground, he hadn’t expected there to be this much damage. The tail wasn’t even close to the body! The helicopter’s hull looked like it had been pried apart by giant hands, and its blackened interior lay in shambles like spilled intestines. Thick black smoke choked the tress nearby. Yet for the amount of smoke pouring out, the fire seemed small.

“Stay,” Iwata said, like he was speaking to a dog. Naegi resented the treatment (well, he disliked it . . . okay, only a little), but held his tongue.

He hadn’t seen any of the people that were inside the helicopter. He hoped they were okay. Maybe Iwata was treating them because for someone who had been reluctant to get closer to civilization, he was taking an awfully long time. But then just when Naegi was wondering whether to check on him, Iwata came _running_ back, voice crisp with excitement.

“Look!”

Naegi’s whole body stiffened in response, because sitting there in Iwata’s hand was a single, regular-sized loaf of bread. Iwata tore the package open, using teeth when hands were too slow, and then tunnelled through the bread to tear it apart. Crumbs fell as he did. Naegi’s eyes followed them to the ground, and he had an abrupt vision of leaping down and gathering them in his hands.

“Here!”

Iwata shoved half the loaf into Naegi’s hands. Naegi stared at it. It like his brain didn’t know what to do with this. Not until he saw Iwata eating his own half, did he feel like he was allowed to indulge. And indulge he did, for once he began, he couldn’t stop. The first two mouthful were fine, but after that he began stuffing handful after handful into his mouth, cramming it full to the breaking point. He somehow managed to keep any of it from falling out, but in his haste to gather calories, he didn’t chew enough. Throatfuls slide down in uncomfortably large, scratchy chunks. He had to stop and force himself to drink saliva to dislodge chunks in his esophagus. He didn’t care though. This was _food_.

It was gone much too quickly and he was still very, very hungry. He rooted through the ground for more, licking his fingers so that any crumbs he spotted would stick to them.

“. . . Was there anything else?” he asked quietly.

“No more food,” Iwata said.

“Oh. . . You have shoes?”

That wasn’t all he had. A quick look at Iwata’s pants pocket told him he had also found a weapon.

“The people on there. . .”

Iwata shook his head. “Let’s keep going.”

With Iwata now having shoes, Naegi thought they would have moved faster. And they did, for the little time they did move. And then Iwata stopped him.

When Naegi asked why, Iwata answered, “You heard and saw it, as well. Someone _shot_ that helicopter down. The only reason somebody would have taken that risk was if that helicopter was alone and they knew they could get away before reinforcements arrived.”

“Why would it be alone?” Naegi asked. “That doesn’t seem safe.”

“Because Ultimate Despair knows that neither of us have anti-aircraft weapons,” Iwata said. “I haven’t heard any other helicopters approaching the wreckage either, so it appears that whatever happened, it happened quickly enough that Ultimate Despair didn’t notice.”

“But they’re going to soon,” Naegi said. “They’ll realize they didn’t check in and . . .”

“Do you honestly think they care about a couple of underlings?’ Iwata asked.

Naegi didn’t answer.

“Let’s wait here for a little while,” Iwata said.

“You’re hoping it’s the Future Foundation.”

“Yes.”

Naegi had no idea what they were looking for. How would they know if the Future Foundation showed up? Were they going to announce their entrance with glitter? He smirked at the thought of Kirigiri walking stoically through a shower of sparkles. She’d glare at him if she knew what he was thinking.

They waited. His stomach complained at the lack of action. It snarled and churned and throbbed – it _hurt_ , like the bread he had ate had been rotten. He almost regretted eating that bread. . . but as he thought that, it felt like he’d been punched in the gut, as if his stomach had heard him and was thoroughly displeased.

“Looks like no one is going to check on that wreck,” Iwata said. With a heavy sigh, he rose from where he had been resting. “There’s no need to wait around anymore.”

“We should go check out the suburbs,” Naegi urged. “Maybe there’s more food there.”

“Those ruins have laid there for years,” Iwata said. “It’ll have rotted.”

“Not if it’s canned food. That stuff never goes bad!”

“It does. It takes years, but it does . . .” Iwata shook off some unspoken thought. “Ultimate Despair hasn’t destroyed every bit of green. They must have taken special action to destroy this section of the forest because it’s so close to them. We’ll find plants if we move on. Some of them will be edible.”

“You can tell?”

“Not as well as I would like,” Iwata said. “My division doesn’t often go on those types of field missions. But, living in this kind of world . . . You learn whether you want to or not.”

They moved on. Naegi was tired. He still felt like he hadn’t slept last night. His muscles ached. His back was tight and his feet too heavy-moving to lift properly. His stomach hurt and he wanted to curl into a ball until the pain went away. Yet the thought of greenery, of plants he could eat shoved life into him. He moved with a spring in his step, pulling ahead and had there been more foliage then piles of rotting sticks and dead trees, they would have lost each other. Iwata must have been worrying about that because he called Naegi’s name. Still moving forwards, Naegi looked back –

And naturally, it was at the exact moment that, had he been looking forward, he would have realized that he was quickly approaching a cliff.

Well . . . at least it was a small cliff. The drop was only about three-quarters of his height. The problem was that it lay atop a steep hill and once Naegi - already falling and tilting forward – hit the slope, he didn’t stop. He shrieked. Only for a second, before dirt found its way into his mouth. Pointy bits poked at him through Komaeda’s sweater as he tumbled and rolled and rolled and rolled . . .

Near the bottom of the hill, he slowed to a stop. Naegi spat out dirt, but otherwise was okay. Komaeda’s sweater had protected him and he murmured a quick thanks to its owner.

“I’m okay!” he called out in response to Iwata. He was, but boy was he dirty. He tried to rub off a stain on his sleeve, and only rubbed it in further. That wasn’t good. Maybe Kamukura could help him. He must have an Ultimate Cleaner talent . . . but none of that mattered because Naegi wasn’t there anymore. He had escaped and he wasn’t going to see Kamukura again or . . . or Komaeda . . . who had abandoned him.

His eyes burned. He blinked rapidly so he didn’t have to rub at them with his dirty hands. Back over the cliff, twigs cracked as Iwata made his way towards him. Naegi waited, kicking a small. The rock skipped across the ground, falling to rest in the darkness of a person’s shadow. . .

Naegi’s eyes widened. “Who -?”

It was over that fast. Naegi saw a green and black blur, and then he was suffocating. His fingers scratched at thick coat sleeves, doing nothing and he was off his feet, high above the ground, caught in the grasp of one much bigger than him. The face he saw was cast in shadow, but Naegi sensed the malice there.

Then, the man swore.

Naegi fell right onto his back. He gasped for air. Blood roared in his ear, drowning out the crunches as two others crashed through the bush to meet them.

“Is that . . .?”

“I thought he was one of _them_ ,” the man said. Still, even though Naegi wasn’t one of _them_ , the man looked unhappy. But then, maybe that was his natural look. The lines and shapes of his features seemed sharp, as if incapable of showing weakness.

Naegi coughed again and one of the other two pushed forwards. This one was female, with rounded, soft features that gave her an aura that stood in stark contrast to the two men.

“Is he hurt?” the woman said. “He didn’t go through all of that just for us to knock him unconscious!”

“He’s fine,” the first man said. “I told you, I didn’t realize it was _him_.”

Upon hearing the stress on that word, Naegi shivered. He knew what that meant: these people had been searching for the Ultimate Hope. But why? Who were these people? He remembered what Iwata had said. Could it be?

The last of the three stepped forward, and the large man with the coat moved aside. This new man had a long sword that hung beside him. His stare pinned Naegi in place, letting him do no more than raise his head off the ground. He glowered down at Naegi with such an icy chill that even the colors in the world itself seemed to shy away.

“You really are this small,” the man said. “I must admit, I was not expecting to encounter you like . . . this.”

“Who are you?” Naegi asked.

“Munakata Kyosuke,” the man said, as if that meant something. Naegi thought the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place why.

The woman nudged him. “Introduce yourself properly.”

The man hardly twitched. “My name is Munakata Kyosuke. I am the head of the Future Foundation.”

“The Future Foundation?” Naegi gasped.

“You’ve heard of us.”

“Yes!” The paralyzing trance broke. Naegi rolled up to a sitting position. “I know about you guys! You . . . you love Hope too, right? You help spread Hope all over the world and . . . and you’re the good guys and you rescued my sister and . . . I’m Naegi Makoto. I’m the Ultimate Hope!”

Both the woman and the man with the coat grimaced. Munakata did not. Munakata hadn’t moved since he started staring down at Naegi. His eyes resembled those of a predatory reptile: devoid of feeling, capable of expressing nothing but dangerous intent.

“You are an ally of the Future Foundation?” Munakata asked.

“Yes! Uh, as long as you’re spreading Hope, because that’s what I do, too!”

Munakata’s mouth curled into a smile. It was meant to be a smile, at least, but with those predatory eyes burrowing into his soul . . .

“If that is so, then I am glad to finally have you in my custody,” Munakata said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Iwata and Naegi meet the Future Foundation.


	92. The Future Foundation (Reprise)

The three loomed above him. Munakata watched him, lips set in that not-quite-a-smile. The woman was next to him, just beyond his shoulder, gripping his arm loosely. The stare she gave him was similar to Munakata’s. . . perhaps he was worrying for no reason. Maybe this was just how non-Despairs behaved. Either way, those stares were still friendlier than the one he received from the last man. The last man had his arms crossed, and he faced away from Naegi, though he kept peeking at him with his eyes.

“Who are you?” Naegi, still seated, asked the woman.

“Oh, you can call me Chisa if I can call you Makoto,” the woman said, leaning over so they were closer to eye-level. She reached out and pinched his cheek. Naegi rubbed the spot, but he did accept her offer.

“He’s not a kid,” the third person griped. “Get him up, and let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t be so rude, Sakakura-kun,” Chisa said. “He looks like he’s been through a rough time.”

Sakakura scoffed and turned his head away.

There were more crashes as someone ran towards them. He thought it was Iwata, but then realized the sound was coming from the wrong direction. The other three didn’t seem alarmed so whomever it was, they were with the Future Foundation. And that meant it could be -!

Disappointment washed over him when the very male figure came into sight. Not Kirigiri. This person had brown hair for starters, and lacked that quiet authority Kirigiri had. Kirigiri was sharp lines and angles, built to last and endure. The newcomer was the opposite. Bags lay under his eyes, and his build was scrawny. The newcomer almost looked like a taller, worn-down version of Fujisaki. Compared to the other three, he was the runt of the litter.

The newcomer gasped for breath, bent over with his hands on his knees. “Wh-why did everyone run ahead like that?”

The newcomer looked up, and got his answer.

“Y-you’re . . .!” He actually reeled back, nearly toppling over onto his back. His pale skin flushed even paler.

Naegi grinned. “I’m the Ultimate Hope, Naegi Makoto.”

“You’re . . .” The newcomer made some kind of grunt. One of his hands, half in his pocket, fiddled with what appeared to be a cellphone. “I’m Mitarai Ryota. Ultimate . . .”

Naegi waited for him to finish, but he didn’t.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“. . . Ultimate Animator,” Mitarai mumbled.

“That’s cool.” Naegi leaned sideways to peer past him. “Is Kirigiri-san behind you?”

“Huh? You mean the Division 14 Head, right? Why would she be . . .?”

“No, I mean Kirigiri-san, the Ultimate Detective! She asked you to come with her, didn’t she? Where is she? I . . . I want to see her.” He was so excited that he started nibbling at his knuckles.

“. . . You were right, Chisa. She has been operating without our knowledge,” Munakata said.

“I was afraid of this,” Chisa said. “Makoto, how have you been talking to Kirigiri-san?”

“With my cellphone,” he said.

“You have a cellphone?” Mitarai repeated skeptically.

“Ultimate Despair doesn’t know,” Naegi said. “Don’t tell them.”

“We’ll deal with her when we return to headquarters,” Munakata was saying to Chisa –

And that immediately caught Naegi’s attention. “What do you mean deal with her? Is she going to get an award for saving the Ultimate Hope?”

Just then, Iwata came stumbling down the slope.

“S-sir!” Breathing heavily, Iwata came to a stop and threw himself into a shaky salute. “Iwata Torio of Seventh Division. I am requesting an immediate meeting with my Division Head.”

“What the hell?” Sakakura said.

“He’s my friend!” Naegi said. “He got captured when you sent him to look for me after the Killing Game, but I broke him out and we escaped together!”

For the first time since they had met, Munakata looked away from Naegi. He said to Iwata, “You were a captive. For how long?”

Something changed. Naegi sensed it. He watched the muscles in Iwata’s neck tense as he swallowed. Munakata had only moved his head, but Naegi suddenly became aware of how close his hand was to his sword. And while Munakata may have barely moved, Sakakura had very noticeably moved to square up with Iwata.

“I don’t know,” Iwata said. “I was captured a week after Enoshima Junko was killed.”

“You’ve been there for months,” Munakata said, turning to square up with Iwata as well.

“I know what you are considering, sir,” Iwata said. “It’s not what you think. They were only interested in me as a way to strongarm him.”

Nether Munakata nor Sakakura responded to that. Naegi could see Iwata force himself to switch mental tracks.

“I am requesting an immediate meeting with my Division Head,” Iwata repeated.

“It’s about his situation,” Munakata said, pointing at Naegi with his eyes. His head turned to follow, and he didn’t look away even as he continued talking to Iwata. “You can make your report to me.”

“Of course. Naegi-kun, why don’t you sit over there?”

He wasn’t stupid. He could recognize a request for privacy. Naegi shuffled away, choosing a spot close enough that he could still see them, but far enough that they could speak quietly without him overhearing. He was already dirty so it didn’t trouble him to sit in the dirt. His stomach growled.

“H-here.”

Naegi looked up. Mitarai stood there, holding out a sandwich with shaky hands, acting as though Naegi might turn around and try to eat him instead. Naegi snatched the sandwich and sank his teeth in.

“You’re the Ultimate Hope,” Mitarai said. “That’s what everyone’s calling you.”

“Yep,” he said with a full mouth. “I mean it’s not like they’re only calling me that. I _am_ Hope.”

“You don’t . . . You don’t seem the same. You seemed different on the broadcast.”

Naegi swallowed and gave him a friendly smile. “We just met. Don’t let first impressions trick you; you haven’t seen me in action yet. Don’t worry. I’m still Hope. I’m an even better Hope now! Just ask Komaeda-kun.”

“Komaeda Nagito?” Mitarai repeated. “But he’s . . . Isn’t he one of them?”

“Ultimate Despair?” Naegi shrugged, speaking quickly so that he could return to his sandwich. “Yeah, but he’s different. He hates despair and loves hope.”

“That can’t be right,” Mitarai mumbled. Naegi was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to overhear it. Mitarai pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, and ran his thumb over the cover. “He can’t hate despair.”

“No, he does!” Naegi said. “He told me so. He’s not like them.”

“He told you that and you just believed him?” That hunted-animal look vanished from Mitarai’s face to be replaced by dismay. “I thought they were exaggerating about how naïve you were!”

“I’m not naïve!” Naegi shot back. He took a frustrated bite of his sandwich and as the lump slid down, gave that statement a second thought. “Okay, so Kirigiri-san says I am sometimes. And so do my parents, and my sister . . . But I’m not being naïve about this! Komaeda wouldn’t lie to me. He couldn’t, he loves . . .”

But then he remembered their last moment. Or rather, their lack of a last moment.

“. . . He _loved_ me,” Naegi murmured. The more he thought about it, the more he felt his appetite fading. Yet his body, still ravenously hungry, panicked and forced him to ram the rest of the sandwich down his throat.

Mitarai stared at him for a long moment. “What?”

“He loved me,” Naegi said. “He used to. I don’t know if he does anymore. Do you have any more food?”

Shaking his head, Mitarai said, “That’s not possible.”

Naegi blinked innocently. “. . . Why wouldn’t it be possible for you to have more food?”

“Not that!” With his free hand, he groped in his pocket. “Uh, here. I have some granola. But, uh, I was talking about the other thing."

“That he stopped loving me? Yeah, I wouldn’t have believed it either. He always told me how much he loved me, that I was the most important thing in the world. . . And I ruined everything.”

He downed the bag of granola like it was liquid. He was still hungry, but at least his emotions were beginning to settle. Mitarai was reacting with disbelief, sure, but it wasn’t the kind of angry disbelief that he had seen on Pekoyama’s face or the simmering one that seeped into Kirigiri’s tone when he spoke about his friends in Ultimate Despair. This was a disbelief born out of an inability to understand. It was _safe_. He could keep talking about it. And he thought it might be nice to, because the memories had been haunting him and after seeing Pekoyama’s reaction, he hadn’t dared to tell anyone else in Ultimate Despair. But this was the Future Foundation. They were the good guys. They’d understand once he’d explain. They’d understand the deep connection between him and Komaeda.

“I attacked him,” Naegi admitted softly. “That’s why he abandoned me. That, and I was a terrible person to him. He was trying to make me into Hope, and I betrayed him.”

“You already were Hope,” Mitarai said. “That’s why you were strong enough to stop her, like everyone wished they could.”

He trailed off wistfully. When Naegi shook his head, the bags under Mitarai’s eyes seemed to lengthen.

“I wasn’t. Not really. I was a newborn. Komaeda helped me grow up. He taught me. He protected me.”

“From what?”

Naegi’s lips stretched into a long grin. “Everything.”

Mitarai backed away. He trembled like a leaf, squeezing his phone. “That’s not . . . Do you hear what you’re saying? None of this is right!”

“I get it. I was freaked out too when I first realized what was happening, but that’s because. . .”

“ _No_!” Mitarai seemed gaunt and hollow, like a skeleton. “Not you, too. You were the Ultimate Hope! You can’t also –”

“Mitarai.”

During his ranting, Mitarai had reached out and grabbed Naegi, as if to try and shake sense into him. The moment Mitarai grabbed him however, Munakata had spoke his name sharply. Mitarai flinched back so violently that his feet left the ground, but his hands did come off. Mitarai stumbled backwards, arms wrapped around himself, as if his stomach was aching.

“Refrain from handling him,” Munakata ordered. Naegi would have spoken in Mitarai’s defense, but Munakata had returned his attention to Iwata. He was standing, Naegi noted, in a way that allowed him to watch Mitarai and Naegi over Iwata’s shoulders.

Naegi sighed. Looked like he couldn’t talk to Mitarai about his relationship with Komaeda either. Mitarai wasn’t angry, but he was definitely freaking out. He was pale-faced and his body was shaking and his knees seemed to be buckling –

And he was crying?

He was, but . . . why?

“I’m sorry,” Mitarai said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Naegi asked, truly baffled. “We’re just talking.”

“You don’t understand.” He took big, long steps back. “Nobody – ”

One of those steps he took was too big, and he fell over backward. It sounded like he landed hard; Naegi heard sticks snap under that scrawny body. Mitarai didn’t bother to get up. He lay there, eyes squeezed shut as tears slid down his cheeks.

“I ruin everything.”

Naegi stood. He looked at that scrawny, shaking boy and wondered if this was what Mikan and Komaeda saw when they watched him freak out. Perhaps not. He didn’t picture them feeling this well of duty that he did now.

“It’s true that things seem terrible,” Naegi said, dropping down on one knee next to Mitarai. “The trees are dead. There’s no wildlife except insects. The sky’s this smoggy grey colour. But we’re still here, and the Ultimate Despair is not. There’s only the Ultimate Hope now.

“You know what that means, right? The world might look like a mess, but there’s people like you guys ready to clean it up. The worst is over. As long as we believe in that, believe in hope, things _will_ get better. Believe in yourself, Mitarai-kun. And believe in Hope! I don’t know what you’re blaming yourself for, but it’s in the past and you can’t change that. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make some good out of it. Keep that pain with you, and use it as your motivation to go out and bring hope back to the world. Because if everybody chips in just a little, things have no choice but to get better.”

Naegi offered his hand. “What do you say? Let’s look to the future together.”

Mitarai’s lip wobbled. He took Naegi’s hand. Naegi gripped it gently, as if he held a baby bird there. He pulled Mitarai up off his back.

“How. . .? After everything you’ve been through, how can you still be willing to fight?” Mitarai asked.

Naegi said, “Because I believe in Hope.”

Those fingers were white as they throttled that phone. Mitarai resumed crying, but this at least wasn’t a despairful sob. More like one of gratitude, and Naegi had to turn his head to hide the inappropriate smile. Had Munakata and the Future Foundation seen? Did they see him spreading hope? He thought so, because they were walking over. That, or Munakata was upset that Mitarai was bothering him again.

However, Sakakura got there first, and he looked mad. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Naegi said, “I was spreading hope.”

Sakakura side-eyed the crying Animator. “That’s hope?”

“. . . It’s better than it looks.”

“We didn’t have to come out here to rescue you,” Sakakura said. “Stay out of trouble, and we won’t throw you back to _them_.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to cause trouble. I’m spreading hope!”

“Don’t smartass me!” Sakakura took a big step forward.

“I’m sorry!” Naegi squeaked, scrambling away. “I don’t understand. Hope is good.”

“H-he’s telling the truth,” Mitarai said, grabbing Sakakura’s pants as the bigger man tried to pass him. “He wasn’t taunting me. I’m sorry! I’m just weak . . .”

“Tsh.” Sakakura looked away sharply. “Well, watch yourself. I was recruited to Hope’s Peak as the Ultimate Boxer. Don’t think I’ll hesitate to use that talent.”

Sakakura pushed his sleeve back –

“I’m sorry! I’ll stop causing trouble. I-I’ll stop spreading hope for now. . . Am I not doing it well enough? Is what why you’re mad at me?”

His gut twisted at the thought. These were the representatives of the Future Foundation: the guardians of Hope. And he was blowing it! They wouldn’t save him if he couldn’t be a good Hope for them.

“I’m better than this, _way_ better. I’m just tired, and hungry. We’ve been running for a few days now, and there’s nothing to eat around here. I promise, once I’m healthy again, I’ll be the best Hope you’ve ever seen!”

Sakakura stared at him in disgust. “What are you -?”

Chisa pulled him away. The Boxer stared at Naegi, teeth showing as his lips twisted in some cross of a grimace and cringe. Mitarai wasn’t crying anymore, but what little colour he had regained had vanished again.

Munakata walked towards him. He went down on one knee, just as Naegi had for Mitarai. “I have a question for you. What do you think of despair?”

“. . . Is that a rhetorical question?” Naegi said. “Isn’t it obvious what I think? I mean, I’m Hope. My whole job is to destroy despair, so what do you expect me to think about it?”

His voice was rising. He shouldn’t be yelling at these people. He was going to make a _terrible_ impression. But he couldn’t help himself. The very subject heated every liquid in his body.

“Despair’s like . . . it’s this _filth_ that gets into your clothes and doesn’t get out,” Naegi spat, staring at his own stained pants. His fists tightened. “And you have to throw out dirty clothes, right? Or _burn_ them. Burn them until there’s nothing left.”

Munakata smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. Chisa, if you would?”

Munakata stepped aside so that Chisa could take his place. She gently took Naegi’s arm and turned it so she could see the bite wounds. They had scabbed over a while ago, or at least stopped bleeding. But there were still noticeable red holes, and the skin around them had bruised red also. A prickling, burning sensation ran down the slope of each puncture, and the only reason he could bear it was because he’d already lived long enough with them to adapt.

“I’m worried about these,” Chisa said. “Bites are prone to infection. Sakakura-kun?”

Sakakura handed her a backpack. She rooted through it, and pulled out a first-aid kit.

“It’s going to sting,” Chisa warned as she prepared an alcohol swab.

Well, she wasn’t wrong. Once it was over, he tore his arm away and cradled it against his chest.

“Naegi-kun, don’t let your arm get too close to those dirty clothes. Yukizome-san just cleaned it,” Iwata said.

Naegi looked up. He blinked.

What did Iwata say?

“We’ll let the doctors take a closer look when we get back, okay?” Chisa said. “But, we’ll wrap it for now so dirt doesn’t get in. Could you give me your arm?”

What had Iwata said?

“Makoto, can I have your arm please?” ~~Chisa~~ Yukizome said.

What had he heard?

Naegi was stock-still. Yukizome sighed, and reached out for his arm herself. Naegi saw it coming in slow-motion, so slow that he felt he could have changed clothes before her hand reached him. And when it did –

“ _Don’t touch me_!”

The reaction was instant. Naegi’s foot hadn’t even made contact with Yukizome’s arm before the other two were upon him. Munakata’s anger was restrained, displayed in gritted teeth and hardened eyes. Sakakura’s was intense. He scooped Naegi up with one arm and just held him there, dangling him above the ground with a hand around his throat. Mitarai had cried out, but otherwise was doing nothing, while Iwata was pulling at Sakakura’s shoulder, begging him to back down.

“You little punk!” Sakakura hissed.

“Explain yourself,” Munakata said dangerously. The sword at his side seemed to vibrate in anticipation.

“I . . .”

He could barely get words out through the grip on his throat. That seemed to upset Sakakura, who merely squeezed harder. Naegi’s eyes bugged out. His throat had closed off completely. He couldn’t breathe -!

“Give him a chance to speak,” Munakata ordered.

Air flowed into his lungs. Naegi gasped, and blurted out, “She’s evil! She’s not on Hope’s side. She’s Despair!”

Mitarai made a noise of surprise. Sakakura, shocked, unintentionally slackened his hold so much that Naegi nearly plummeted to the ground. Chisa stared at him, wide-eyed, almost looking hurt.

“Who told you that?” Munakata said sharply.

“Th-they did.”

“Is he talking about Ultimate Despair?” Mitarai said.

There was silence as they all waited for the next move. Nobody knew where to go from here.

“. . . That was very clever of them,” Yukizome said softly. “Kyosuke, in different circumstances, you would have wanted me to speak to him first, correct?”

“Yes,” Munakata said. “Between the three of us, you would be the obvious choice. It’s not too surprising they figured that out.”

“No!” Naegi cried, aware of what they were thinking. “She’s _evil_. She’s their man on the inside. They told me-!”

“Even if this wasn’t Chisa, I would never believe it,” Munakata scoffed. “They are _Despair_. Nothing that comes out of their mouth is true.”

“You’re not listening! She’s not one of you. She’s with them –”

His words cut off when Sakakura tightened his grip. “Stop talking!”

“Don’t hurt him!” Iwata pleaded. He turned to Munakata. “It’s not his fault. You know that!”

“Kyosuke?” Yukizome said quietly.

Munakata exhaled. “Sakakura-kun, please stop choking him.”

Sakakura set him down. His hands jumped from Naegi’s throat to his arm before he had a chance to fight.

“He’s going to cause trouble,” Sakakura warned the others. “He’s not planning on coming without a fight. I can see it.”

“That’s preposterous,” Iwata said.

Sakakura growled. “I’m the Ultimate Boxer. I can tell when somebody’s planning to throw a few punches.”

“We don’t have time to deal with this,” Munakata said. “We can’t have him uncooperative when we’re this deep in enemy territory. Mitarai, go ahead.”

“A-are you sure?” When nobody answered him, Mitarai shakily stood. Sakakura suddenly spun Naegi around and then held him against his body, forcing Naegi to look at Mitarai.

“ _Mitarai?_ ” Munakata pressed.

“. . . I’m sorry,” Mitarai said.

He raised his cellphone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it suspicious as fuck that Mitarai, the guy with a knack for brainwashing, was put in charge of the _educational_ division. I mean I don't think Mitarai's timid personality is one Munakata would have liked to be in charge of a division during the apocalypse, and it's canon that Yukizome talked about the despair video with others (Tengan).
> 
> Speaking of which, Tengan is not brainwashed in this canon because there's enough brainwashed people running around!
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> If only the Future Foundation had been there to learn from Ultimate Despair's mistakes!


	93. The Hall of Mirrors

“How long will the effects last?” Munakata asked.

“It depends on how long he watches it. Minutes. Hours. . .” Mitarai trailed off, biting his lower lip so hard that it turned white.

“How long will what last? What are you doing to him?” Iwata demanded. He made to step towards Naegi, but Munakata’s arm barred his way.

“Th-there.” Mitarai yanked his arm away from Naegi’s face so harshly that it looked as though it might snap. “That should last for a couple of hours.”

“What did you _do?_ ” Iwata demanded again as he tried to push Munakata’s arm down.

Mitarai shied away, fingers curling around his phone. “I-it’s not permanent! It’s to keep him quiet until we get out of here.”

“He’ll obey orders?” Munakata asked Mitarai. After Mitarai nodded, Munakata then asked, “How far does that go? Could he still deliver his platitudes?”

“Uh, I mean he could say them, but everyone who hears him will know he’s not in his . . . It doesn’t work like that.”

“What are you . . .? Why would you do something like this?” Unable to push Munakata’s arm aside, Iwata ducked under it instead. “’He’s not one of them. He is a _victim_.”

Iwata shouldered Mitarai aside. He grabbed Naegi’s shoulders, and looked into glazed-over eyes.

“Naegi-kun? Naegi-kun!” When Naegi didn’t even blink, Iwata turned slowly towards Mitarai. “What did you _do_?”

“I t-told you it’s not permanent!” Mitarai cried, backpedalling as to hide behind Munakata and Yukizome. “There’s no side-effects. H-he’ll be fine once it wears off!”

“Wears off. . .” Iwata muttered. “There were always conspiracy theories floating around that the head of Division 10 was indoctrinating people into a cult. I always thought it was nonsense – those kinds of conspiracies existed long before the Future Foundation. But there’s a bit of truth in that, isn’t there, _sir_?”

Mitarai inched sideways to better put Munakata between him and Iwata.

“Respect your superiors!” Sakakura growled. The tail of his coat swung with each aggressive step forward.

Sakakura stopped square before Iwata. With only an arm’s-length of space between them, the difference between their well-being was striking. Sakakura was large and broad, with a straight spine and chest thrust out. Iwata was a shrivelled husk, with a sagging body unable to fully support its own weight and skin so wrinkled that it looked leathery. The bags under his eyes were dark and swollen. Did Iwata have muscles? It was hard to tell unless you were close and even then . . .

It was a striking image they painted, one that drew attention away from the average boy behind them. Which meant that no one noticed when Naegi twitched and blinked slowly as his mind came out of the protective haze it had lapsed into. Though the stitched fabric of Mitarai’s video was dissipating, Naegi remembered what it had said: _Obey_. With that word came understanding of intentions and he stayed very still. This wasn’t right. This was the Future Foundation; they shouldn’t do things like that. Fear rolled under his skin and he held his breath unintentionally.

“Stop it, you two!” Yukizome demanded. She separated the two with surprising strength, shoving Sakakura hard enough to send him back a step. “This isn’t the time to be fighting.”

“Am I supposed to ignore this?” Iwata demanded.

“Iwata-kun, I understand that you have been through a lot –”

“So has he!” Iwata snapped back. “He doesn’t deserve to be treated like an animal!”

Munakata answered him with, “Are you going to get in our way?”

Mitarai inched forward. “S-sir, did you want me to -?”

“Don’t think I can’t snap that phone in half,” Iwata threatened. Even with his frail physique, he still had the tough tone of his bodyguard days.

“Everyone, _stop_!” Yukizome cried. “We can argue about this later. We need to get out of here first!”

“No, _he_ needs to reverse whatever he did to Naegi-kun first,” Iwata said. “There’s already been enough damage dealt to him. He doesn’t need this on top of it!”

“I swear, there’s no side effects!” Mitarai looked like he was about to drop to his knees and beg. “I’ve used these techniques before. Everyone recovered.”

Iwata turned his head slightly, giving Naegi a view of his profile. In it, he saw many things. Disgust. Disbelief. Horror.

“This is something we sanction?” Iwata asked.

“War calls for desperate measures,” Munakata said.

Iwata wilted a little. “I suppose, but . . .”

Munakata nodded at Sakakura. “If you would.”

Sakakura muscled past Iwata. Naegi barely stopped himself from gasping when the huge man grabbed him and tossed him over his shoulder. He forced himself to lay limp. He could sense Yukizome – _Despair_ – behind him, watching. Sakakura turned sideways, letting them both see what was happening.

“I can’t say I’m pleased with your belligerence,” Munakata said.

“Would you rather I hadn’t been on his side through this?” Iwata said.

“That doesn’t mean you’re supposed to protect him from us!” Sakakura retorted. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those Naegi Cultists.”

“No,” Iwata and Munakata said at the same time. Munakata finished with, “I believe there’s an easier explanation.”

There was something distinctly eerie about the way Munakata approached. Nothing in his upper body moved; only his long legs did. The light-coloured, iron-pressed clothes were a blot in the dark, dead landscape that surrounded them.

“It’s been nearly ten months since that game ended,” Munakata said. “Given his talent, I can believe – barely – that _he_ lasted that long. You, on the other hand, are a regular person. I have never met anyone who has kept their mind after merely a _month_ in their care.”

“I told you, they were only interested in me as leverage,” Iwata said. “I only endured some torture at the beginning before Naegi-kun decided to befriend me.”

 _Torture?_ Old images flashed in front of Naegi’s eyes. A small room with a desk and three people, and knives and blood and blood _and blood –_

“You? They chose you as leverage, and not his family?” Munakata said. “There was a long time where they had his sister in their custody.”

Iwata said, “My understanding is that their intentions towards Naegi were complicated –”

“You weave an interesting tale. You claim your goal is to protect Naegi, to return him to the Future Foundation. Yet when we find you, you react with hostility.” With each sentence, Munakata took a threatening step forward. “What was your true aim? Where is it that you intended to take him?”

“To safety,” Iwata said. “Eventually, to the Future Foundation.”

“I have one more question,” Munakata said. “Have you spoken to Kirigiri Kyoko lately?”

Naegi couldn’t see what Munakata saw. But whatever the head of the Future Foundation saw, it gave the truth away.

“I see. Then you two must be working together.”

“Only for his benefit,” Iwata said. “She was my only connection to the Future Foundation. I didn’t have a choice!”

Munakata turned away. “Mitarai, is Naegi under your influence at the moment?”

“Y-yes.”

“How much of this will he remember?”

“Uh, none of it.”

With that question and answer came a warning bell so loud –

Naegi’s ears rang. Someone gurgled.

Munakata yanked his sword out of Iwata’s chest.

“Given the circumstances, you can’t be trusted,” Munakata said. “We will take care of him from now on.”

Iwata dropped to his knees. His hands were over his chest, blood bubbling through the fingers. You could barely see the bloodstain past all the dirt he was already covered with.

“Ultimate Despair shot him,” Munakata told the others. “It’s time for us to leave.”

Slowly, Iwata slumped to the ground. A twig crunched under his weight as he rolled onto his back and stared up, glassy-eyed, at the sky.

And Naegi moved.

Up here, positioned where he was, there were so few targets and so little weapons. But some weapons couldn’t be taken away. Naegi swung around and he bit _down_ on Sakakura’s ear. The reaction was instinctive. Sakakura grabbed and threw him away. Naegi skittered across the ground, rolling up to his knees where momentum carried him a couple of steps forward before falling again.

“Iwata-kun!” Naegi scrambled over.

“Naegi-kun, stop!” Mitarai ordered.

He growled, and threw a rock in Mitarai’s direction.

“Naegi-kun,” Iwata groaned as he registered Naegi’s face hovering above him.

“Y-you’re going to be fine,” Naegi said, placing his hands over Iwata’s own, trying to hold the flood back. “Just hold on a bit longer.”

(“I thought he watched your video!”

“He did. I don’t understand!”)

Iwata worked one hand out from underneath the pile. He laid it atop of Naegi’s.

“Go,” he said, unfolding Naegi’s hand from his chest.

“I’m not leaving you!” Naegi cried. “You’re fine. It’s just a little blood –”

“ _Go_ ,” Iwata insisted. “ _You_ need to escape, Naegi-kun.”

(“Wh-what do we do now?”

“We’ll figure that out once we get back to the Future Foundation.”)

“Escape _where?_ ” Naegi cried. “They say they’re the Future Foundation!”

Iwata closed his eyes and swore.

He could hear movement behind him. Sakakura, holding a hand over his bleeding ear, was rapidly approaching. Naegi leapt over Iwata, putting him between them, and stood up. Sakakura eyed him like a wolf, waiting for him to bolt so the chase could begin. For each step Sakakura took, Naegi had to take two back to maintain their distance. They claimed to be the Future Foundation, but all Naegi knew was that they were _murderers_.

“You’re not real,” Naegi muttered. “You’re not the real Future Foundation. You’re not Kirigiri-san’s Future Foundation.”

“Like it or not, we’re the only Future Foundation in the world,” Sakakura said. “We’re the only organization that actually stands a fighting chance against Ultimate Despair.”

“No!” Naegi snapped. “My friends wouldn’t work with people like you.”

“ _Kirigiri-san_ is the head of one of our branches,” Sakakura said.

“Liar!”

“Naegi-kun!”

Iwata cried out his name as Sakakura lunged. His arm reached, fingers extended . . .

And Iwata whipped out the gun he had salvaged from the helicopter, and pulled the trigger.

“ _Argh!_ ” Sakakura reeled back, clutching his thigh where the bullet had punched through. It collapsed under him and he fell.

“Sakakura!” Sword bared, Munakata jumped forward.

“Naegi-kun, _go_!”

This time, he obeyed.

He ploughed through dead bushes and nests of tangled branches. He heard another shot, but only one other, and then nothing else from his friend. But he could hear things snapping as they came after him. In the dead woods, there was little to hide him from them. Peeking over his shoulder, he and his pursuers could see each other quite clearly. The only advantage he had was his small size that meant he could manipulate his body to fit better, squeezing through openings that the others had to go around, nimbly ducking under branches that gave the others pause. He had no idea where he was going, or if he was even running in the same direction that would lead to Kirigiri’s Future Foundation. All he knew was that he had to get away.

_Bang!_

Sakakura, face pained, had still forced himself to run after them. In his hand, he held the gun Iwata had been using. The first shot had been up into the sky, but now Sakakura pointed the gun directly at him.

“Get on the ground,” Sakakura growled.

“Go ahead, shoot me!” Naegi snapped back. “I dare you!”

He kept running. Behind him, Sakakura swore. He didn’t shoot.

“Naegi-kun, please! Just let us explain,” Yukizome, the first person to catch up, said. She ran parallel to him, but there was enough space between them she couldn’t grab him. “It’s not what you think. We want to help you!”

Her words were strained and full of concern, but she was grinning like a fox. One hand was carefully positioned in front of her chest where the others could not see it, and that hand was making a gesture for Naegi to continue running. Rather than encouraging him, it frightened him, still achieving her goal of making him run faster.

He tripped. The slope he was on was made of mud. He slid down, leaving a trail behind like a slug. When he looked up, he saw Yukizome at the top of the slope, Munakata next to her in that clean white suit. There were, however, splashes of mud on his pants. Sakakura lagged behind, limping. Mitarai hovered near him.

“Naegi, what do you intend to do?” Munakata asked. “You fled the Ultimate Despairs for _us_. You wanted to find the Future Foundation, and you have. You can run, you can find another patrol to take you to our headquarters, but we will still be there. In the meantime, you will have to continue to evade Despair. Can you do that? How long can you keep them from catching you?”

“You killed Iwata-kun!” Naegi cried.

“It was unfortunate, but some sacrifices must be made in war. He knew that. When he volunteered on the original mission to find you, he knew it would end in success or death. I sincerely doubt he expected to be alive by the time you found us.”

“But he _was_ alive! You killed him!”

“He was already dead,” Munakata said. “Your exposure to death – this world’s kind of death – is limited. Not ours. We could see that he was already a lost cause. Even if he were brought back to the Future Foundation, the physical stress of your escape had already caused his body to start shutting down. Only an Ultimate with medical expertise could have nurtured him back to health, and the only one of those left belongs to Despair.”

Naegi shook his head. “No, he was fine.”

“No, he was brave,” Munakata countered. “Men can only take so much punishment. It would have taken days, perhaps weeks, but eventually he would have passed. I offered him a quick, merciful passing.”

Naegi thought on that. Was Munakata telling the truth? Had Iwata silently been dying the whole time he’d been with Naegi? Did it matter?

No, it didn’t. Maybe this had been too stressful on Iwata, but that didn’t change the fact that Iwata had found them alive. That didn’t excuse them from refusing to make any attempt to save him. And that certainly didn’t excuse _stabbing him_. What Munakata said was nonsense. That had been no mercy kill.

“I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do,” Naegi said, “but I do know this. I would _never_ work with anyone who killed my friends.”

“Munakata?” Sakakura looked to Munakata, awaiting orders.

“If that is his only problem with us, then it is easily handled. Assuming things are done _properly_ this time,” Munakata said.

Naegi hadn’t understand what he had meant by the first sentence. However, after the second came, he did. He glared at the cellphone in Mitarai’s sweaty hand. They intended to use that on him again. What exactly that was, he didn’t know, but he knew enough to tell it wasn’t good.

He took off again.

In his wild dash, he paid no attention to the route he had taken. He gave little thought to what lay ahead. So, it came as a complete surprise when there were no more trees and his shoes hit cracked concrete. A road stretched out on either side of him. And either he had gotten turned around somewhere, or he’d reached a larger town where there were few apartment blocks, but the ruins were still standing.

He ran for the ruins, remembering what Iwata had said about hiding places. But though he was close, close enough he felt like his spit would hit the rubble, his legs began to flag. They moved slower and slower despite his urging. His lungs felt like they had swelled up like a balloon, and they hurt. Sakakura, with his injury, lagged as well. As did Mitarai for some reason. But Munakata and Yukizome were getting closer, and Munakata especially was booking it towards him.

“Come on,” he hissed to his legs. He forced his weary legs to take him into these new ruins.

He fell into the first opening he saw. It was a terrible hiding place; the moment they didn’t see him on the streets, they’d look here. But he couldn’t do anything else. He couldn’t keep running anymore. His legs were quivering.

He walked himself across the wall until he reached the back door. Wind buffeted his face. Perhaps it was from the distant helicopter he could hear. He stumbled out into a yard filled with concrete blocks. If he climbed over them . . . maybe if he went behind . . .

He dragged himself across the yard. Reached the first block on his knees. Pulled himself up with two hands.

Heard the crunch of footsteps behind him.

He knew what awaited him when he turned around. He glowered at Munakata through matted bangs.

“You can’t run,” Munakata said.

“I can still fight.”

Munakata was midway between him and the house. Had Naegi been energized, he might have been able to scramble over enough of the rubble to keep Munakata from catching him. In this state, however, that wasn’t possible. He lay where he was, panting.

“No, you can’t,” Munakata said. “You have no more tricks up your sleeve. It’s over.”

Naegi grit his teeth and looked away.

“We will return to the Future Foundation where you will undergo a medical examination,” Munakata said. “If you have any issues with your health, it would be easier to tell me now.”

Naegi glowered at him.

Munakata didn’t react. “If that is all . . .”

There was no hurry to Munakata’s movements. He didn’t need to rush. Though Naegi’s logical mind was screaming at him to get up and run, his emotional mind was just. . . tired. That was the mind that seized control of his body. He looked upwards, at the top of the pile where he would have climbed over to escape. He couldn’t even raise his arm to wave at it.

What was taking Munakata so long?

Naegi looked back. Munakata had stopped moving. He had turned and was staring in the direction they had come from. Why? Naegi hadn’t heard anyone call them. He had heard . . .

The helicopter.

No sooner than that thought entered his mind, did it appear. It cut through the sky above the building, stopping just a little beyond where Naegi lay. Munakata lifted his sword and moved his feet into a fighting stance as the helicopter slowly rotated in place.

When the helicopter’s flank was facing the head of the Future Foundation, it began.

It sounded like cannons going off. The bullets tore into the ground, creating a maelstrom of dust and dirt as they carved shallows in the ground gradually leading towards Munakata. No sword could deflect this, and Munakata knew it. He ran back into the ruined house, but even that didn’t stop the helicopter. The machine guns peppered the walls with bullet holes and the structure seemed to groan under the strain. The helicopter tipped forward, and then moved over the building and ahead, presumably to follow Munakata who had emerged on the other side.

Naegi blinked. It was going away? Had it not seen him? He considered that, and how his mud-splattered, dark clothes would be much harder to see than Munakata’s pale suit. Perhaps it genuinely had missed him.

And thank God for that. He closed his eyes and laid there. He needed rest. He needed his body to recover, his chest to stop burning. He needed as much time as he could get.

Not here though. With Munakata gone, he felt he could move again. Laboriously, he climbed over the pile. It may have taken five minutes, but he did.

He fell down the other side, and he knew that was it. He could go no further. But wait, there was a tipped garbage can _so_ close. He couldn’t go any further, but he had to, so he forced himself to crawl. He pulled himself inside the garbage can, and his body gave out for real.

It took only a few seconds to blink into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many of you thought Iwata was safe. How despairful is that~
> 
> Next Chapter: Naegi struggles to evade the Future Foundation and Ultimate Despair.


	94. The World at War

Where was he?

Naegi opened his eyes. It was dark. Oh, right. He was in a garbage can. His mouth was dry. The corner of it was crusted over with drool. His right hand had gone numb because he had lain on it. His other arm hurt; he could feel it throbbing with his heartbeat, the skin stretching around the bite wound like it was about to burst.

His bones cracked. He pushed himself to his knees. The garbage can started to roll when he crept forward, and it sent him back onto his stomach. It hurt. He didn’t want to get up again. He ran his fingers over his numb wrist, massaging feeling back into it.

His eyelids dragged close. He forced them open. He was ready to lay here, even if he didn’t need to sleep (which he did). He couldn’t hear the helicopter anymore, nor could he hear the voices of those so-called Future Foundation members. But he remembered too much. He remembered what they had done to Iwata. Most importantly, he remembered that if the Future Foundation caught him, there was a good chance he wouldn’t be able to keep those memories. To forget Iwata, to forget what Iwata had done for him. . . It wasn’t an option.

Then, there was Ultimate Despair to consider. That must have been one of their helicopters. He didn’t know how far they had tracked him. They might not have any idea he was in this area, but he couldn’t count on that.

Creaky legs rose. His back was stiff. He had to make it snap before he could stand straight up. It looked to be late afternoon, maybe evening. He trudged forward.

A pillar of black smoke rose in the distance. He stared dully in that direction and for no real reason, walked towards it. It wasn’t like he knew where he was going.

The source of the smoke turned out to be the helicopter he had seen earlier. That confused him. Hadn’t this thing been in the air? He stared at it for longer than he should have, hardly even thinking. Just staring.

Until he heard the rumble of an engine. His adrenaline surged but even that was sluggish; rather than wiping his mind clean in an instant, it scrubbed the grime away. He didn’t go far; he just made sure he couldn’t be seen from the road.

A jeep came by, swerving around large wreckage and bouncing over smaller pieces. A large weapon was mounted on the back – that must have been how they shot down the helicopter. Sakakura sat in the driver seat. His head stuck out the window as he drove by slowly, scanning the surrounding area. Naegi pulled away from where he had been peeking and huddled close to the ground.

He waited until the rumbling passed and breathed. Even his lungs felt sore. He didn’t think he would win another chase like he had in the forest. But at least he knew to stay off the roads. . . Not like they were real roads.

He was hungry again. Expected. But his whole body felt distant and numb and so, it wasn’t as bad. At least that’s what he assumed, until he found himself mindlessly chewing on some greenery he had plucked from the ground. The realization paused his chewing. Should he spit it out? Some plants were edible, but he didn’t know the difference and how he wished he did! For while this was a land marked by humans, nature had already reclaimed it. Moss climbed up damp walls. Blades of grass and weeds stuck out through cracks in the pavement and once-lovely gardens had grown ugly and wild.

Ah! Dandelions were edible, weren’t they? He was pretty sure Hagakure had pointed those out after they escaped from Hope’s Peak. With a jump in his step that didn’t match his energy levels, he stumbled over to the nearest overgrown garden. These weeds were high. He crawled into them; he couldn’t see outside them, so he assumed he couldn’t be seen from outside, too.

He meant to at least pluck the weed out of the dirt, but when he reached for it, his head ended up following and his teeth chomped down. Bitter juice sloshed across his tongue, making it recoil in disgust. The rest of his body, however, really didn’t care. He yanked the flower and stem free. It folded in odd ways as his teeth crushed it. He didn’t care.

He ate them one after another, multiple at once, sending half-chewed lumps down his throat. A small part of him worried about eating so much green at once, but the rest of his brain shouted it down. Because there were plenty of animals that only ate plants, so his body could surely cope, right? Surely, it would be able to extract nutrients.

He was unable to move from the spot. He couldn’t even _think_ about it. When he heard helicopters, he simply scowled and threw his hoodie over him, assuming that would be enough.

Until the gunfire broke out.

He jumped into a sitting position. In his grazing, he had eaten enough that he could see out into the street again. He couldn’t see any guns, but the shots sounded close. Another helicopter? He had heard some earlier. He stumbled out into the open, instinctively shying from the sound.

Only . . . he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. He could at first, until he realized it wasn’t all coming from one location. What he was hearing was scattered gunfire coming at intervals frequent enough that it had sounded like one consistent hail. That confused him because he was over here and none of the guns seemed to be near him, not that he thought Ultimate Despair might shoot him. But the Future Foundation – this _false_ Future Foundation might. He didn’t know what they were after.

Still, the sound flushed him out from his hiding spot. He tried to figure out the general direction of most of the gunfire, and then moved away from there. He flipped his hood up, even though he knew that not being recognized would make it _more_ likely he was shot.

The good thing about the time of day was that he would be harder to see. It seemed to him as well that his natural aversion to the encroaching gunfire made his senses sharper. His breath condensed into fog as he forced his sore body into action, pretending he was an athlete warming up for the big game. The sidewalk he jogged upon had managed to survive the years intact, though weeds sprouted freely between the cracks of each square. A lamppost lay ahead, bent in half like a twig, attached by only a few, albeit thick, threads of metal. His shoe brushed a large shard of glass as he jogged by.

The shooting was moving. He could tell that much. His ears seemed to rotate on his head like an animal’s, keeping track of it. And something they nervously told him was that the amount of gunfire was increasing.

And helicopters! There were still helicopters! Only they seemed to be acting differently. He watched a few from below, and they weren’t following the zig-zag or circling pattern they had before. No, these ones had a clear destination and travelled mindlessly towards that end. He wasn’t sure if they were watching the ground that closely for him, but he wasn’t keen to find out.

At the end of the day though, what really troubled him was that the amount of people looking for him seemed to be growing. So, he journeyed on.

About ten minutes later, things started blowing up.

The first one was distant and he paid it little mind, hardly recognizing it for what it was. The second one was impossible to ignore. He felt the vibrations through the earth, threatening to send him tumbling to the ground again. Past the immediate ruins, just a block or two over, rose a cloud of dust. Crunching, grinding, groaning, he heard it all in that structure’s collapse. And on the tail end, a shout.

“St-stop! What are you doing? It doesn’t matter if they’re shooting at you from inside. You can’t blow ‘em up! We don’t which one Naegi’s in.”

That was Soda. He took a few quiet steps backwards before turning around and bolting. Sore legs carried him a few blocks before he had to stop and rest.

They knew. No question about it. They had tracked him here. Which meant he needed to get out of this place, but he had no idea where he was.

And apparently, _they_ were everywhere.

He didn’t run into them. They ran into him. He’d been making his way through the streets when he heard shouting coming from the next block. He’d ducked behind a tree just in time, for a squad of black-armoured people burst into the junction connecting this street to the next. Although, even if he hadn’t hidden himself, he would have been okay given that the squad’s eyes were focused back the way they came.

Guns were pulled out. The squadron leader shouted something and the group fanned out into a semicircle. Naegi saw what was coming next, and covered his ears.

The group fired. One after the other, never stopping. Until the leader shouted again and they all put their guns down, and ran back into the street they had just vacated. Naegi timidly peeked out of his hiding place. He crept up to peek at the reoccupied street a little later. The men he had seen were no longer there. What he did see, however, were smoking Monokumas.

He walked up to one. It stared back at him, forever silent. The gunfire around him took on a new meaning. Ultimate Despair didn’t just know where he was; someone else did, too. He couldn’t tell whether it was the real Future Foundation or Munakata’s false one. Though he had seen Sakakura earlier, so he was inclined to think it was the fake.

There was a full-out battle going on, and he was the cause. He pulled his hood up again and chose a direction. If he kept running the same way, he’d have to reach a city border eventually.

But that was easier said than done. These weren’t straight clean streets, but ones cluttered with debris. Most of the time, he was able to pass it, but there was one or two piles that were either too slippery or sharp to climb. Plus, he had to avoid everyone, ranging from the robots marching through the streets, to the helicopters prowling the sky. He never even considered snipers in the buildings; at least, that was the only explanation he could come up with for why a flare lit up the sky above him without any warning.

He swore, and took off. He couldn’t see anyone, but someone had clearly seen him and there were enough people here that it was a matter of time before reinforcements showed up.

Sure enough, he took one step into an alleyway and Monokumas popped up at the other side. These weren’t small Alter Ego-sized varieties, but the ones bigger than a man, with claws to match. They must not have recognized him at this distance because the claws stayed out, but they also knew he wasn’t one of them. That godawful laughing started up as they charged him, claws raised.

He didn’t get very far before a squad of Munakata’s men appeared on the other side.

“Move! Get out of the way!” they screamed at him. Whether they knew his identity was something he could not say, but the very fact that he was running from the Monokumas must have marked him as someone who was not an enemy. Naegi did as they said, throwing himself to the side of the street as the men began to fire.

Based on the massacre he had saw before, he expected it to be over quickly. But maybe these men were given different weapons, or these Monokumas were made of sturdier materials, because while a few bullets pierced vulnerable parts and downed their targets, most simply made dents. The Monokumas kept coming, picking up speed, homing in on their targets like missiles. They must have been designed differently because Naegi had never seen them move so _fast_. There had been a whole alleyway between the Monokumas and men and two seconds later, at least half of that distance was gone.

They were going to get slaughtered.

Naegi, in the middle of climbing through a window, stopped. Less than two seconds before impact, and it all flowed before him at once. He knew how this story would end. Their claws would tear through the men like paper and if that didn’t take them down, the pure weight behind those metal bodies smashing into them would. That was five, _six_ deaths about to occur right in front of him and he –

_Dammit!_

“ _Hey!_ ” he screamed. Komaeda’s sweater fluttered to the ground as he leapt off the windowsill and waved his hands. “It’s me, Naegi Makoto!”

He could see the Monokumas struggling to stop mid-step as they saw him and their priorities immediately shifted. The men charged now, using the close distance to better place their shots, dispatching the slowed Monokumas with much better efficiency. Naegi, seeing the tides change – not to mention seeing the Monokumas were chasing _him_ now – leapt back through that window.

“Naegi Makoto, wait!” someone called after him. “We are here to rescue you!”

Already prepared to jump out another window, Naegi called back, “Who sent you?”

“The Future Foundation.”

“ _Who_ sent you?”

“Munakata Kyosuke, the chairman.”

Naegi hissed, and kept going.

He had a head start, but he was an exhausted boy who hadn’t been eating properly. They were soldiers. By the time he was halfway across the yard, Naegi knew he wouldn’t outrun them. He couldn’t fight them either. Even if he could stomach hurting people, they’d overwhelm him in an instant.

Thus, when he turned around to face the building he had passed through, he didn’t know what he planned to do. He didn’t move. He waited.

It was unnecessary.

Maybe it was his luck kicking in. Because the building _exploded_. And if it was luck, it must have been bad luck because there was smoke and fire and he had no idea if any of those men had been inside. There was no time to check though. The fast-approaching helicopter fired another missile for good measure and the winds stirred by its rotors merely fanned the flames. The heat was intense. There was no way he could go in and look for survivors.

Not that he expected the people belaying out of the helicopter would let him.

“Hands up!” the Monokuma soldiers screamed at him. He heard several clicks as they pointed semi-automatics straight at him.

He wasn’t scared. They wouldn’t shoot. But physically, they could easily subdue him. With the fire at his back and the soldiers on all other sides, there was nothing he could –

Wait.

Naegi dove. He grabbed the object he had seen, and rolled back onto his feet as they charged . . .

“ _Freeze._ ”

They did. Breathing heavily, Naegi looked them over as he held the glass shard to his throat.

“Get any closer and I slit my throat,” he said.

They made no move to grab him. Naegi inched his way out of the trap, keeping a close eye on them. Once they were out of sight, he ran. The soldiers might not shoot, but they could still call the Despairs. With their multitude of talents, he couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t find a way to get past his threat, especially if Kamukura got involved. He moved on.

However, while his threat had gotten rid of the soldiers, the helicopter pilot must not have heard. It followed him. A huge spotlight blinded him and made him trip over a bench. The helicopter hovered above, simply marking him. Naegi heard the roar of an engine further down the street . . .

The helicopter veered sharply to the side. A missile soared past and blew up against a wall behind it, collapsing it. A soldier leaned out of the door, wielding a machine gun. They flew back inside when, from the jeep that had fired the missile, a machine gun started firing back at them. Naegi threw himself onto the sidewalk and watched as the jeep drove past.

Goddammit, _that_ jeep?

It caught him on the next street. It cut him off swiftly, and Sakakura watched him from behind the steering wheel. But Naegi was ready, and he turned and ran down a path too narrow for the vehicle to follow. The car screeched to a stop, and Sakakura leapt out, ready to pursue.

Naegi didn’t last long. He could feel the will to run being sapped from his muscles. Naegi slowed down and, one hand on a wall for support, turned to face the Boxer. Sakakura wasn’t running either, knowing that Naegi was spent. They watched each other, waiting for someone to make a move.

“I was glad when we didn’t find you,” Sakakura said suddenly.

Naegi blinked. How did that make sense?

“I hated you,” Sakakura said. “You don’t know how happy I was to hear you weren’t brought back with your friends. Part of me liked the thought of you having to put up with those assholes.”

Sakakura heaved a heavy sigh then, and Naegi still didn’t get the point of this.

“That didn’t mean. . .  Look, I didn’t want to you become a raving lunatic,” Sakakura said. “Maybe this is karma striking back. Just come with us and let us help you. We’re not the villains here.”

“Where’s Kirigiri-san?” Naegi asked.

“She’s not here,” Sakakura said.

“You don’t know where she is, do you?” Naegi asked. “You’re not the _real_ Future Foundation.”

Sakakura hissed something under his breath. “Naegi, she works with us. Munakata’s her _boss_.”

“Then where is she?” Naegi demanded. “If the Future Foundation wanted to save me, Kirigiri-san would have been first in line. She’s my best friend. She wouldn’t abandon me.”

Sakakura’s jaw worked.

“You’re not the Future Foundation,” Naegi said.

“We don’t have time for this.” Sakakura pushed his sleeve back. “We can argue about this after we get back to headquarters.”

Sakakura’s arms were raised in a boxing stance. Naegi copied him, although he had no idea what he was doing, nor any delusions that he could take on Sakakura in a fight. Even ignoring their height and weight differences, there was also that Naegi wasn’t sure he could keep standing without something to lean against. Still, it was the principle that mattered. He couldn’t just kneel before these fakers.

. . . He went down in one punch.

It didn’t even seem to be that hard of a punch, given how Sakakura kind of just flopped his arm forward. Still, it was enough to send Naegi flying backwards. His bottom hit first and then he rolled along his spine so that his head didn’t hit the ground too hard.

“Can’t even feel good about punching him,” Sakakura muttered. His sleeves fell back as he advanced.

From the building next to them, on the second floor, they heard clanging. A Monokuma poked its head out the window. Not one of the big ones, but a small, knee-height one. Naegi could almost see its eyes focusing on him.

The Monokuma’s head flew off but to Naegi’s untrained eye, it didn’t seem to be from the megaphone, but a purposeful ejection. At the same time, the body rushed forward and flung itself out the window. Neither of them knew why until halfway through its descent, they realized the body was _beeping_.

The explosion wasn’t large, just how it hadn’t been with the one that Oowada had flung. But small and potent weren’t antonyms, and the aim had been true. Sakakura flew backwards just as Naegi had done before and unlike Naegi, he didn’t recover quickly. Naegi fought his way back to his feet and stumbled back towards the direction Sakakura had chased him from, staying along the opposite wall so Sakakura couldn’t reach him.

“What are you . . .?” Sakakura groaned.

Naegi kept going. Somewhere behind him, Sakakura began to rise, but Naegi’s actions were confusing him and he didn’t hurry.

Not until he realized what Naegi was walking towards.

“ _Shit!_ ”

Sakakura’s shout was his own downfall, for it gave Naegi the motivation to sprint across that last distance. He leapt inside the jeep, locked the door, and turned the key as Sakakura hammered on the door. He didn’t have a license, but driving was easy, wasn’t it? Press the pedal and turn the wheel . . .

Oh, shift the car into drive, too.

And off it went. The magnitude of the acceleration knocked Sakakura back. Naegi ripped down the street, screaming, then blinking in confusion when he stopped. . . until he realized he had taken his foot off the pedal in his surprise. In the rearview mirror, Sakakura was running after him.

Not this time. He punched the pedal, and was off. The sun was setting in the west . . . and the Future Foundation was in the east.

He turned the wheel. He’d keep going. Alone, if he must. He’d keep going until he found Kirigiri and the real Future Foundation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Naegi continues east. Alone.


	95. The Road East

Kirigiri looked up when she heard footsteps. It wasn’t time for a meal. There was no shouting and nobody had been arrested after her, so she deduced those footsteps belonged to someone who meant to visit her. She heard the arrival speak to the guards she couldn’t see, but their conversation was fleeting. It couldn’t be Togami or the others then; she had no doubt that Munakata would have ordered them thrown out on sight. Likewise, that struck out most of the Division Heads; she was certain that Munakata had kept her status close to his chest. It couldn’t be Munakata himself either, as the guards wouldn’t have questioned him. That didn’t leave many who could be the source of those footsteps then. Yukizome was unlikely, as her standard outfit included heels that would have produce a distinct sound as they hit the stone floor of the Future Foundation prison. That left one likely option.

“Chairman Tengan,” Kirigiri greeted as the tip of his shadow appeared on the wall opposite her cell.

Tengan made a noncommittal grunt, one of those sounds that the elderly purposely made to make themselves appear easygoing and harmless, though Kirigiri knew that he hid a steel that rivalled hers.

“I’ll assume that Munakata-kun did not inform you of this,” she said.

“I’m afraid not.” Tengan’s voice was, as always, raspy and layered with the calm of an apex predator overlooking its territory. She was always a little on edge around people who hid their potential like that. “We were informed you were on assignment.”

“He would spin it like that.” Kirigiri flipped her hair. “I suppose ‘ _Stay out of my way_ ’ might count as a mission.”

“There’s surprisingly little information about what he’s up to,” Tengan said. “However, it appears he’s mobilized his, Yukizome-san’s and Sakakura-kun’s divisions.”

“He trusts them fully.”

“He has also taken Mitarai-kun with him.”

“I’m afraid I can’t explain that decision of his.”

“Hmm, that’s unfortunate,” Tengan said. “Munakata-kun is a very capable adult and I trust him to make his own decisions. However, Mitarai-kun is still young. I cannot help but think that this was an irresponsible choice.”

“Perhaps, but that was not my doing.” Kirigiri watched Tengan closely. She certainly understood what he was saying: Mitarai was a timid wallflower who couldn’t hold his own when placed in the same room as a strong-headed man like Munakata. Yet. . . something about Mitarai rubbed her the wrong way. For someone that passive, that indecisive to be a Division Head in these trying times . . . not to mention being handpicked by the chairman himself, there was more to Mitarai’s story than she knew.

“Perhaps you _can_ help me,” Tengan said mildly. His hands, clasped behind his back before, separated. One hand rose to chest level and from it, dangled a key.

Kirigiri watched him, waiting for the catch.

“The young lose themselves in ideals and fanaticism,” Tengan said as he slipped the key into the lock of her cell. “They see the hesitation of the old as weakness. They forget that few things are black and white. But that understanding is the crux of wisdom, I suppose.”

The lock clicked. The cell door opened.

“Is this wise?” Kirigiri asked.

“It may not seem it at times, but I am the chairman of the Future Foundation, not Munakata-kun. Now, I have no control over what you do next, but if you could assist me during your travels by ensuring Mitarai-kun comes home safely, I would be very grateful.”

He stood aside, and waved her out.

Kirigiri walked by him. “Do you have any leads?”

“They’re fighting Ultimate Despair in one of the peripheral cities,” Tengan said. “That is all I can offer you.”

“It’s enough.”

* * *

He’d made good time. In a couple of hours, he’d traveled as far as it would have taken him a day to walk. The nice thing about the apocalypse was that there was no traffic to worry about. And once he was away from buildings that could crumble and leave debris, the roads were surprisingly clear. There were abandoned cars, but most had been crashed off-road or against the median. Naegi’s road-trip was, dare he say it, pleasant. He zipped along the road in the night, window cracked open to get that nippy breeze, hands only loosely gripping the wheel. It was, by far, the best time he had experienced since escaping. Here was a way to escape without driving himself to unconsciousness through exhaustion. There had even been a couple of water bottles and Sakakura’s lunch in the passenger seat. In the backseat, he’d found a first aid-kit.

He’d cleaned and bandaged his arm once he felt far enough away to be safe. Afterwards, he flexed it; he was no nurse, but he hoped he had picked up enough from Mikan. He’d tried turning on the jeep’s radio, but he didn’t pick anything up. It didn’t dent his improved morale however, and as he started up the jeep again, he felt better than could ever remember.

But with the peaceful ride, with the relaxing of his mind and loss of adrenaline, came thoughts he simply didn’t have the opportunity to dwell on before. For the first time, the weight of what had occurred sank upon him. Alter Ego. Iwata. Both gone. Both destroyed in the fight to preserve the Ultimate Hope. While Iwata in his wounded, weakened state lingered in his memory, he couldn’t help but be relieved that he hadn’t personally seen either of them pass. It was like he could pretend they had gone away for a while, like Komaeda.

He took a deep breath. Wiped the tears from his eyes. Iwata wouldn’t want him to break down now, not until he was safe in the arms of the Future Foundation. Iwata would have gotten angry that Naegi wasn’t devoting all of his mental resources towards escape. That meant that he had no choice but to suck it up. Grieving wasn’t a luxury he had.

Or was it? Who said he had to grieve with sadness? Alter Ego and Iwata had given themselves for his escape, for _hope_ , and he should honour that, shouldn’t he? Take the pain. Take the sorrow. Take the sacrifice and glaze it in blinding hope! Use it as fuel for the journey before him – _yes!_ Their deaths didn’t have to be a tragedy. They had become part of something greater: stone steps winding up the wise man’s mountain; kindling for an inferno that devoured all in its ferocious warmth. Despair was a curse, and who was he to memorialize the end of their lives with such a rotten word? Soldiers should die in glory! Soldiers should die knowing that the men behind them would take up their arms and continue the fight. Yes, yes, _yes!_ It was all so clear. What a fool he had been before! Crying and weeping . . . No wonder Komaeda had judged and found him naïve. That wasn’t the way to celebrate death. Mourning benefited no one. Nay, the answer – _the only answer!_ – was to embrace it. Take the Hope. Cherish the Hope. Hope was all that mattered. They were but slaves hauling stones to build the great monument of Hope, names destined to be swept away with the sand. But the product of their toil would be everlasting and their sweat and blood had sunken into the stones. They lived on in their monument and so they weren’t really dead, nobody was ever really dead **_–_**

The jeep jumped a curve and jolted him out of his thoughts. He yanked the steering wheel, directing the car back onto the street. Ah, yes. Escape first. Everything else later. He’d have to put his hoping on hold for now. That being said, he still hadn’t thanked Komaeda. He closed his eyes, and then shot his thanks over the land like an arrow. He smiled as he imagined it plunging into the back of an unexpecting Komaeda.

“You’d be proud of me, wouldn’t you?” Naegi murmured.

He drove through most the night. When his body grew weary, he parked the jeep off-road so they couldn’t find him and took a nap. He woke sometime during the morning with a sore throat and covered in sweat, and remembered that enclosed areas like cars with closed windows tended to bake. He stumbled out the door, fondly breathing in the cool air even as he giggled at his silly mistake. Sunlight warmed his skin, as if saying hello.

He coughed.

It startled him. How could it not, when it was the loudest sound around? He took another breath.

He coughed.

He couldn’t stop. He coughed and coughed and as he did, his throat seemed to grow narrower. He could hardly suck in a breath between the harsh coughs, and each one burned and itched at his throat.

Then, by the instinct of some almost forgotten memory, he pressed the fabric of his sweater against his mouth. He sucked in air through that. His lungs kept convulsing, as if enjoying being wracked by coughs. Gradually, however, it died down.

The air was polluted. He hadn’t really thought about it. There was not much he could do about that, though. He’d have more coughing fits in the days to come.

That dampened his mood, but Naegi still managed to keep his determination as he climbed back into the jeep. He drank some water, blinking in surprise when it ran out before he was ready. Scowling, he tried to shake the last few drops out. When that didn’t work, he threw the bottle away.

He sighed and turned the key. It was time to move on.

He stayed off the road, reasoning that they were more likely to find him there. The jeep leapt through fields as Naegi sat back and observed. Shame that there hadn’t been a map in this blasted thing.

He drove for hours. He bolstered himself with thoughts of Hope, discussing it with himself when that wasn’t enough. Yet, despite his best efforts, _it_ crept over him. Eventually, in one moment of weakness, _it_ overcame him. He stopped the jeep, and laid his head on the wheel. He felt . . . He was . . .

“This is so _stupid!_ ”

. . . He was lonely.

Naegi hadn’t experienced loneliness since the Killing Game. Ultimate Despair had been with him nearly every minute of the day, if not in person, then through the soldiers and robots bound by their will. It was disconcerting to walk around without someone following him. It was strange to make observations that went uncommented. He felt like the last person alive. He wondered if Komaeda, wherever he was, had these kinds of thoughts.

“Stupid, stupid.”

Eh, he could just pretend the conveyor belt had dropped him into the garbage dump again. It was the same scenario, wasn’t it? He was in deep trouble and waiting for Kirigiri to save him. Actually, it was even better this time because he was helping and didn’t smell like trash!

. . . He did smell like some other unpleasant things, however. He was looking forward to a shower.

He journeyed on. He squinted as the glare blinded him. The jeep bounced as he drove it over the uneven ground, but it was built for this terrain.

He took a short break, and swallowed his own saliva to eat at the thirst beginning to claw up his throat. He sprawled out on the jeep’s hood, the hot metal nearly burning his skin. In the distance, he saw . . .

He slid off the hood.

He approached warily. The thing before him rustled, and he stiffened. It wouldn’t bite, _couldn’t_ bite, but he still treated it warily. It stirred slightly as he watched it, and Naegi pried his fingers free of their fist and reached out. He gripped it with his thumb and pointer, rubbing it between his fingertips before turning it over.

Leaves. The tree before him was scraggly and not the healthy ones of his childhood, but it had leaves. They sprouted from the branches at irregular intervals, often shrivelled and browned around the edges. Still, this was the first tree with leaves he had seen since Hope’s Peak. It was magnificent.

His ears popped as his brain latched onto a new sound. He turned slowly, mouth opened in awe, tracing the noise to its source.

“Birds.”

On a rotting wooden fence nearby, three little birds chirped at each other. With white bellies and brown wings, he thought they were sparrows. He’d seen _hundreds_ in his life. Yet he treasured this moment more than he would have seeing a tiger in the wild. Birdsong . . . it was the sweetest music. And _much_ easier on the ears then Mioda’s songs were.

One of the birds suddenly flew at the other, thrusting with its talons. With high-pitched chirps, they scuffled briefly before one of them took off and fled.

“Wait!” Naegi called instinctively.

His sudden exclamation only ended up frightening the other two. The fence was left bare as Naegi stood there with his arm extended.

“I just wanted to say hi,” he whined.

Still, he was glad he got to witness that. He looked up beyond the fence, across the field of green plants, beyond the barn the fence still guarded, to the trees in the distance. Despite the poison Ultimate Despair had pumped into the air, despite the spilt blood that choked the weeds and the choking smog of despair, they had survived. Life had survived. The world adapted.

He leaned down and ran his fingers up the stem of a seeding plant. Yes, life went on. It was almost time for despair to pass and the world to be reborn; he’d lead the charge and guide it with the hand of Hope.

There didn’t see to be anyone directly on his tail, so he took some time to check out the barn. It was the most intact building he’d seen since he had left Ultimate Despair. That wasn’t to say it looked _nice_ , however. The red paint had long begun to fade and chipped all over, leaving streaks of uncovered wood. Unlike the windows, the doors were there, but they didn’t close properly. He easily pushed them open and walked inside. The smell was strange, of wood shavings and old hay and dust – which he hadn’t realized had a smell until now. The most striking fact, however, was that it was dark. Very, very dark. Good if he ever needed to hide. Not so good when he was looking for supplies. If there was a light switch, he couldn’t find it and a lack of a portable light source meant he was reduced to scavenging around the entrance, where there wasn’t anything useful.

A sound came from the darkness.

“Hello?” Naegi said, already backing out of the barn. He could hear more movement, something being knocked over. . .

And, with a mouse clenched between its jaws, a cat trotted into the light.

His throat went dry with excitement. “H-hello!”

The cat stared at him. It seemed healthy. . . Well, for a stray cat anyways. It must have been a pet before because when Naegi knelt down, it mewed with its full mouth and came towards him. The fur was thick, and he petted it with the same sort of awe that a child would. The cat purred, arching its back into his hand. It apparently had no problems with plopping down on his lap, or with Naegi grabbing it and hugging it.

“Do you want to come with me?” Naegi said. “We could go to the Future Foundation together. There’ll be food there and toys and lots of people to pet you. You could be our mascot – you could be _Hope’s_ mascot!”

Ah, maybe not that, since that was kind of Naegi’s job already. He tried to stand up with the cat, but it didn’t like that, and fought its way out of his arms. This time, Naegi managed to hold back a shout as the cat scampered off into the darkness.

“. . . Bye,” he said quietly. But as with the birds, he was glad he got to experience that.

 _Is it really this easy to impress me now?_ he thought to himself as he walked back to the jeep. Feeling his heart race at the sight of simple birds or cats, stopping like he did now whenever the birds started to sing . . . Some might say it was beautiful, that is was a sign that he truly appreciated the world. He was leaning more towards pathetic or sad, however. While he was living it, his life with Ultimate Despair had seemed so full. That was the mirage a schedule and persistent friends offered though: an illusion of a complete, busy life while in reality, it was another form of control. He couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed the company, but some of the other stuff he could have done without.

He’d have a real life soon though, when he found the Future Foundation. His friends and family were waiting for him there. They’d give him freedom. They’d let him live again.

He climbed into the jeep, and journeyed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Ultimate Despair is in a bit of a panic.


	96. The Search

It was a quiet day here with Ultimate Despair. Normally at this time of day they would be in the dining room, waiting for Hanamura to finish up breakfast while they gossiped and enjoyed each other’s company. But not today. While Hanamura was in the kitchen, only part of the group was waiting at the table. Not only that, but a haze of weariness lingered over the group. Tsumiki was one of those people, chin in her hand as she rested her elbow on the table. Her eyes were shut, and her other arm was looped around Naegi’s stuffed rabbit.

“There,” Hanamura said shortly as he stomped out of the kitchen. He was followed by a queue of much calmer Monokumas who dutifully delivered platters to the other members of Despair. Tsumiki jerked into full consciousness as the platter bumped her arm.

They ate in silence. Saionji rubbed her eyes. When the door opened and most of the missing members of Despair entered, there was no greeting exchanged.

Tsumiki bit her lip. “Did you . . .?”

“No,” Nidai said.

“It’s your turn to run the search party,” Koizumi said with a yawn. “I need some sleep.”

The silence stretched on. Kamukura stirred where he sat, looking at the door. He must have heard something they did not, for that very same door swung open not long after.

“Here’s the latest,” Kuzuryu barked, slapping down a paper on the table. “Apparently, Naegi’s gone and hijacked a car.”

“He can do that?” Soda said in amazement.

“Apparently. Fuck, I didn’t know the kid had a license!” Kuzuryu collapsed into a chair. “That’s what happened, though. He stole a car from underneath the Ultimate Boxer’s nose and drove off into the sunset. I’d be impressed by his fucking balls if he wasn’t using that car to run away!”

“Ugh, he’s worse than _Komaeda_ sometimes,” Saionji griped.

“Should we set up a blockade?” the Imposter asked.

“We could, but the goddamn Future Foundation’s got a head start.” Kuzuryu then added, “Nobody’s been able to catch him on the roads yet.”

“Hah! Then we’ll be first!” Nidai said.

But Kuzuryu frowned. “There ain’t a lot of gas in that tank.”

Soda said, “Then you’re saying . . .”

“Yukizome-san says that if he’s been driving all this time, he would have run out by now. Fucker’s probably travelling by foot again.”

Nevermind groaned. “Which means we are back at square one.”

“I’ve told all our cells to look out for him,” Kuzuryu said. “Maybe they’ll finally do something useful. Anyways, shift change.”

The people at the table rose. They shuffled towards the exit. Mioda aimed cheery words at each person, but it didn’t have much effect. Tsumiki was the last to leave, even after Kamukura. She tried to smooth down the rabbit’s ragged fur, and then scurried after the others.

At the front entrance, she found Kamukura. Hands clasped behind his back, Kamukura stared out into the distance.

“. . . This isn’t right,” he said.

“H-huh? Do you mean that it isn’t right M-Makoto ran away again?”

“Not that,” Kamukura said. “They’ve already found him, but he refused to return with them. That shouldn’t have happened.”

“Well, the F-Future Foundation isn’t very nice,” Tsumiki said.

“Those are the thoughts of a Despair,” Kamukura said dismissively. “His friends and sister are there. He _wanted_ to go there. Why is he refusing? There’s . . . Something’s gone wrong.”

“I guess,” Tsumiki said. “But we’ll find him, and then it won’t matter.”

“. . . No, I don’t think that will be the case.”

Her head turned sharply. “Kamukura-kun?”

“Naegi-kun is unpredictable,” Kamukura said. “His luck manifests in unexpected ways. However, what we are facing now, a game of cat and mouse, is there not a strong element of luck involved? Given the state of the world, if his luck is truly bad, then the logical conclusion is that . . .”

Her face fell. “You don’t think we’ll find him?”

“. . . It’s not only us that won’t.”

* * *

Naegi’s back slammed against the tree. He sat there, gasping for breath. They didn’t seem to be coming after him anymore.

He crawled forward, away from the strangers. He hadn’t spoken to them. They hadn’t let him. They’d only glimpsed his silhouette in the distance, and then started to shoot. None of the bullets had hit him, but they hadn’t given up that easily. He’d heard motors revving and triumphant shouts, and every survival instinct he’d owned told him that these people weren’t going to sit by and listen to him talk about Hope. He’d took off, and they followed, screaming obscenities and taunts, demanding that he come and face them like a man. (a very stupid man, in that case!)

They seemed to have gave up once he had hit the trees, but he could still hear them jeering. So, he pushed himself to his feet and kept running.

The car had run out of gas two days ago. With no refills in sight, he’d been forced to abandon it. There was no sign of Kirigiri and her Future Foundation. He wasn’t giving up on her, but he wished they would find him _really_ soon because he was hungry and thirsty and grimy and tired.

And in pain, too. He wasn’t sure when, but he’d reopened one of the puncture wounds. You could see the crack down the middle where it had split. Yukizome’s bandage was the only one he had, so he hadn’t changed it. That meant that the spot above the wound was stiff and caked with rusty old blood. It wasn’t nice to look at.

Eventually, he stopped running. It was a muggy day with lots of cloud cover so he wasn’t sure if it was sweat or condensation covering him. He’d taken off his sweater earlier and wrapped it around his waist.

Birds were singing. A lonely frog croaked out its mating tune. On a rotten log, a cricket rubbed its legs. Naegi stopped, traced the sound until he found the insect and blinked. He tiptoed closer.

His grimy hands snapped shut on the spot the cricket used to be.

“ _Argh!_ ” He threw a rock at the fleeing cricket. He dreamt of them colliding and the cricket falling dead where it was. His aim wasn’t nearly that good, however. He slumped over the rotted log and dug his nails into its bark because he was _really hungry_ and it hurt so much he felt like he was going to puke. It hurt like having the stomach flu but while the flu might put you into a haze, he was wide awake for this.

Slowly, his limbs began to retreat into his body. He sucked his stomach in and kept the muscles stiff, wondering if by compressing his abdomen he could reduce the pangs. Finally, he unravelled himself and stumbled forward.

Moving helped push the pain back. It also let him look for food and he might as well do something, because he couldn’t fall asleep. He felt too high-strung, like there were fishhooks and wires pulling his eyelids open. And at the same time, even though he was scanning everything around him for food, he felt like he wasn’t processing anything.

It was hunger, not thirst that tore him apart, but when he saw a puddle, he still dove for it. Mud stuck to the side of his hands as he cupped them and drank deeply. Water filled his stomach. Water was good. It felt _so good_ on his irritated throat. About an hour later, when the fullness of the water began to wear off, he tried munching grass. So many other mammals lived off it. . . surely he could, too?

(He threw up half an hour later.)

When night came that day, he couldn’t sleep. He curled up somewhere that helicopters wouldn’t see him, and shivered. Sweat had breached his clothes, and now that he was no longer moving and warming them up, they lay frigid against him. His teeth felt were covered in a rough-feeling surface and gosh, he could _feel_ them rotting. He couldn’t find his ahoge when he reached for it.

All that being said, however, Iwata had been right: it was worst the first few days. He thought it was the fourth or fifth day that the pain started fading, as if in the absence of food, his body simply decided to live without it. He didn’t see anyone but the previous afternoon, he had come across a trap. It had already been sprung without any prey in sight though, so Naegi figured whomever had set it was no longer around.

That morning also came with a new surprise. Naegi had seen them scattered across the landscape: large, strangely intact towers with big megaphones attached to their tips. They hadn’t done anything though and he assumed Despair had erected them to make sure everyone heard about the Killing Game. So, imagine his surprise when the tower next to him screeched.

“M-Makoto?” said the tower.

He nearly ran, thinking they had found him. But then he remembered hearing Kuzuryu and Nevermind’s voices outside Ultimate Despair’s headquarters and understood.

“It’s me, M-Mikan. Um, I mean . . . I don’t know if w-we’re on first name basis anymore . . .”

He could have run. He could have kept going. He ended up leaning against the tower’s leg instead, letting the vibrations rock him.

“I’m sorry for calling you Makoto! U-unless you want me t-to . . . Then I’m sorry for saying I’m sorry!”

He smiled. Classic Mikan.

Mikan cut right to the chase. “Please come home! I know you’re mad and scary stuff has happened, but we miss you! Th-the Future Foundation hasn’t seen you either and we’re scared because i-it’s not safe out there! Th-the air’s bad a-and . . . I’m sorry! We wouldn’t have polluted the air if we knew you would be out there!”

Ah, yes. The air was poisoned, wasn’t it? He had stopped noticing. The cough and ache in his chest was just another one of his constant companions.

Mikan’s voice rose sharply, desperate in its pleading. “Please come home! I don’t know where you are and I-I’m scared . . . Please let me know you’re okay! I-I . . . Anything could have h-happened to you. Wh-what if you got attacked by a dog or you got sick or you fell down a hill and broke y-your ankle. . . N-no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry –”

He could hear her sobbing on the other end. Someone, someone female was speaking to her in a low voice. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might be Koizumi.

“I’m sorry!” Mikan wailed. “This is my fault because I’m dumb and useless and –”

“No, you’re not!” he snapped out immediately. He paused for a response, but of course there was none.

Mikan wasn’t capable of talking anymore. He could hear Koizumi trying to talk her down, but she wasn’t able to pry anything out of Mikan but more sobs until the connection suddenly broke.

He leaned against the tower, breathing deeply, coughing. This sucked. Everything sucked. But he had to keep going. Had to keep Ultimate Despair away.

Kirigiri . . . Kirigiri would find him. . .

 

 

She would.

. . .

 

 

 

 

( _Where was she?)_

* * *

“We searched this quadrat already,” Nevermind said as she jabbed her finger into a spot on the map. The map itself, longer than she was, was rolled out before her on the dining room table. The map had been divided into grids, with post-it notes detailing last searches or other useful things. A small flag had been placed at one point, and it was this flag that her advisor pointed at as he spoke.

“I understand,” Nevermind said. “We should search here–”

“No,” Kamukura said. “It’s too far west.”

“But if he was turned around in this forest. . .”

Kamukura pointed to a spot on the map. “The sun would be visible from here. Undoubtfully, he is using that to guide him. He would not have turned there.”

“Very well.” Nevermind sighed, and crossed out that quadrant. “Where would you recommend?”

“This area.” Kamukura traced a line with his finger that included many quadrants.

“. . . That’s a lot of places,” Soda said.

“If you have a better idea, then stop complaining and tell us,” Kamukura said, not noticing the raised eyebrows of everyone who had overheard. “He’s unpredictable and this is the best I can do.”

Hanamura coughed awkwardly.

“Uh, guess we’re searching there then,” Soda said. He sighed heavily. “Which quadrant do you guys want.”

Silently, they made their choices. It didn’t take them long, but there wasn’t a whole lot of confidence in their declarations.

“There’s an hour until the shifts change,” Nevermind said. “I would suggest you all rest.”

Soda pulled his beanie over his eyes. “Man, this sucks.”

“Maybe we should start food drops,” Hanamura murmured. “I don’t know if he’d find them, but at least there’s a chance he would get some real food.”

Nobody had much to say about that. Eventually, they shuffled off, leaving just Nevermind and Kamukura in the room.

“Do you think Hanamura-kun’s idea is necessary?” Nevermind asked. “Surely Makoto will be with us again soon. Unless you don’t believe that is true.”

“I think . . .” Kamukura said slowly. “There is a real chance Naegi may starve to death.”

“That would take weeks!”

“I am aware. Finding him. . . I am not sure if that is an outcome that can be decided by us alone. Not without his consent.”

“But then to convince him . . . How?”

Kamukura was silent.

“Then what?” Nevermind said quietly, challenge present there. “Would you simply have us abandon him to die?”

“. . . I have a plan,” Kamukura said.

“Do you?” Nevermind said. “I have seen no indication of this. Did you intend on keeping that a secret?”

“I can’t start yet,” Kamukura said. “It’s not time.”

Kamukura’s back was to her, but even if he had been able to see her, it was unlikely he would have reacted to her frown. She left the room swiftly, expressing her displeasure that way.

Kamukura exhaled as the door shut. For Naegi to have escaped in the first place . . . That didn’t matter. It was time to worry about the present rather than the past. Though he feared this was the extent of what assistance he could offer. Should he go into the field and help Ultimate Despair recover Naegi. . . should Naegi then discover that the _great_ omnipresent Kamukura had physically pursued him like that . . . the psychological consequences were too dangerous. It would be better to let the Future Foundation have him in that case.

Yet, Yukizome had not reported the Future Foundation’s successful retrieval of Naegi Makoto and she had no reason to lie to them. Naegi was still out there yet, and he could not simply abandon Naegi to the elements. He owed him that much, at the very, very least.

He checked his phone. It was lit up by a group message from Kuzuryu, letting them all know that the shift had failed yet again. As expected.

He wandered over to a window. His eyes sharpened as he allowed his Ultimate Sniper talent to take over and evaluate whether he was in danger . . . Unlikely. He could see no persons in the spots that a sniper would choose. Additionally, with the chaos Naegi had caused, the Future Foundation had other things on their mind. In the highly improbably situation that he was incorrect, his Ultimate Soldier instinct would kick in.

Kamukura stared, Analyst talent idly running as he sweep over the ruins. Not that there was anything that interesting.

That remained true for twenty minutes.

Kamukura watched the figure approaching their building. Even at this distance, he knew what was happening. He separated himself from the window, and made his way to the front entrance. If he took his time, he would get there seven minutes before contact was made.

That he did, and seven minutes he waited. He watched them come, as there was nothing else worth looking at. They saw him too, of course, and Kamukura could read the curiosity and confusion there.

They walked inside. A duffle bag dropped from their hand.

“Kamukura-kun. You . . . You called me?” Komaeda said. Although he had been given days to accept that fact, he still sounded shell-shocked. Komaeda even glanced down at his cellphone again, as if expecting the message to have vanished.

“. . . We need your help.”

Komaeda didn’t comment on how strange that was. There was need to, given that it was obvious to both. Instead, he shuffled his feet and looked at the ground like a shy child introduced to their classmates for the first time.

Komaeda said, “While I was out there, I . . . I heard a rumour.”

Kamukura was certain that he knew exactly what kind of things Komaeda had heard, but he remained silent just in case. Komaeda, understanding the silent cue, continued.

“Kamukura-kun . . . where’s Naegi-kun?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Kuzuryu mentions something that he maybe should have kept secret.


	97. The Message

“Still nothing?” Kuzuryu’s curse was soft as a sigh. He was sprawled out on a couch, resting before it was his turn to go out again. Before him, a TV flickered with the mirrored image caught by a night-vision camera as somewhere, Soda held it during his hunt through the woods. It was boring to watch, but like most of the people in that room, Kuzuryu couldn’t keep his eyes off it for long.

“N-Nevermind-san . . . I heard her say that Makoto was st-starving out there!” Tsumiki said.

“The fuck she say that for?” Kuzuryu snapped.

Tsumiki brightened up. “Then it’s not true?”

Kuzuryu hesitated.

“ _Noooo!_ ”

“Fuck! Aw, come on! Stop crying!”

To his credit, Kuzuryu did give calming Tsumiki down a token effort. She would not be satisfied however, and filled the room with her loud howls as she tugged at her hair. Kuzuryu opened his mouth again, then visibly gave up and flopped stomach-first back onto the couch.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” he moaned to his bodyguard. “He wasn’t supposed to have a fucking freakout like this. It was supposed to be some fun despair! Should have got them to shoot that stupid bear in the shoulder or something. Naegi would have stuck around to keep an eye on . . .”

Mioda’s head turned slowly. “Eh? Fuyihiko-chan knew Makoto-chan’s bear would be shot?”

All heads turned in his direction.

“The hell?” Owari said. “Are you and Yukizome-san keeping secrets from us?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kuzuryu said as he scrambled up to a sitting position. “I . . .”

“Then how would you have known somebody was going to shoot Naegi’s bear?” Koizumi asked, although judging by the look on her face, she had already figured out the answer.

Kuzuryu looked around the room quickly and realized that even with Mioda and Owari, the average intelligence of those present was not in his favour. “Look, I didn’t mean to make him take off. I didn’t know he had a pet Monokuma or whatever the hell that thing was. I just wanted to cause a bit of despair!”

The Imposter sighed. “Once again, you have gone off the rails without properly consulting the rest of us. I could have told you that was a horrible idea.”

Kuzuryu scowled, but he couldn’t deny that.

“You killed Kuma?” Tsumiki said quietly.

“ _I_ didn’t kill him,” Kuzuryu said, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “. . . I just suggested to one of the soldiers –”

“ _Grah!_ ”

In a flash, Pekoyama was in front of her master. She held a wooden sword sideways in front of her chest, and her feet dug into the ground. They needed to, for Tanaka was on the other side of that sword, weight bearing down on it as he growled and snapped in Kuzuryu’s direction. Foam dotted his jaw, and gathered around his gums as his eyes swirled.

“Yeah, that’s right! Beat ‘em up!” Owari cheered wildly. Mioda joined her to the Imposter’s displeasure.

Pekoyama gathered enough of her weight under her to shove Tanaka back. He skidded across the ground, landing in a hunched squat.

“Come on, we can two-time them!” Owari said. Her grin was predatory. “I haven’t had a good fight since the Old Man became a coward!”

Pekoyama held her sword out, warning the two back. A low rumble wrung its way out of Tanaka’s chest.

“Injure each other, and that’s less people out there looking for Naegi,” the Imposter said. “This is not the time for this.”

“Fine, we’ll reschedule,” Owari said. “I can beat your ass any day of the week.”

Pekoyama merely gritted her teeth, and pointed her sword in Owari’s direction.

As Tanaka and Owari backed down, the Imposter said, “I hope you understand that this is genuinely your fault.”

“Yes, I know!” Kuzuryu barked. “I told you I didn’t want any of this to happen!”

“Hmph.” The Imposter tilted his chin upwards in a clear message of superiority. “You keep forgetting: Naegi isn’t another one of your yakuza to be dealt with on a whim. You need to consider the consequences of your actions more carefully.”

Kuzuryu looked like he wanted to knock the Imposter unconscious. That, or himself, so that he couldn’t be scolded anymore.

The tension broke, or perhaps increased further, when Kamukura walked in.

“Everyone needs to go into the field and start searching,” Kamukura said.

“We have two hours until it’s our turn,” Owari said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kamukura said. “If Naegi is going to be found by us, it will be within the next few hours.”

“How can you be so sure?” the Imposter asked, suspicious.

Kamukura glanced at him. Then he moved aside. Komaeda stepped into the room, looking uncomfortable.

“. . . When the fuck did you get back?” Kuzuryu demanded.

“Ah, so you did notice I was gone. I wasn’t sure if you would . . .”

“Spare us the ‘I’m garbage’ speech. Tell us what the hell Kamukura is talking about.”

Komaeda glanced at Kamukura. “We have a plan. Uh, Kamukura-kun has a plan – I couldn’t have come up with anything that brilliant. I wouldn’t have even come back if. . .”

“Komaeda,” Kamukura warned.

Komaeda cleared his throat. “He has a plan. Given what I know about Naegi-kun, it has a reasonable chance of success. But everyone needs to go out and start looking.”

“Alright,” the Imposter said. “What is it you propose?”

* * *

Naegi picked his way through the bush. His eyes were fixed straight ahead on the flickering firelight; had Ultimate Despair or Munakata’s minions snuck up on him now, he wouldn’t have known until it was too late. He crouched in the darkness, waiting like a lion setting up an ambush. Whomever that person on guard duty was . . . they weren’t doing a very good job.

He licked his lips. Should he approach? It was a small group – hardly a group – so he didn’t think they were aligned with anyone. That didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous though. The guard had a gun, after all.

Naegi prowled around the tent, careful to stay out of sight. Really, not a good guard. Anyone with a gun could have sniped him in the dark. Someone like Pekoyama would have made mincemeat out of them. But that was a good sign, right? If they weren’t good at protecting themselves, then maybe they weren’t inherently violent.

“H-Hello!” he called into the dark.

The man was immediately on his feet. His rifle cocked loudly. “Who’s there?”

Naegi moved sideways and hid behind a tree. Maybe it would protect him. He might need protection, because the sound of the rifle’s safety being triggered had caused whomever was in the tent to stir.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” Naegi said, before realizing that was probably the wrong thing to say. “I’m sorry. I-I just haven’t met anyone who hasn’t tried to kill me right away. I’m N-Naegi Makoto, the Ultimate Hope!”

“Step into the light.” When Naegi didn’t answer, the man growled, “If you mean what you say, step into the light!”

Naegi did. Hands raised, eyes fixed on the other’s face, he walked into the halo created by the fire. His ahoge wasn’t sticking up, but it was plastered across his forehead and provided all the evidence they needed as a woman poked her head out of the tent.

“The hell . . .?”

The rifle remained pointed at him, but the immediate danger of the safety being off had been removed. The man kept his rifle trained on Naegi as he moved around the fire and walked close enough to touch his ahoge. Which the man did, before drawing back as if it had snapped at him.

“The hell you doing here?” the man said as he finally lowered his rifle.

Naegi grinned. “I’m looking for the Future Foundation.”

The woman approached. She also made a move to touch his ahoge, but thought better of it at the last moment. She and the man stood close, looking at Naegi uncertainly.

“Course you are,” the man finally said. “They ain’t going to be around here though. Not enough people dying.”

“Dying?” he said tightly.

They must have heard that, because the woman said, “They try, but there’s never enough of them. They always try to handle the big messes first.”

“Though if this one’s running around, that sure is a big mess,” the man said, pointing at Naegi.

“Yeah, everyone’s looking for me,” Naegi said. “I’ve already a ton of people trying to capture me.”

“Lot of creeps around,” the man muttered.

Alright, this seemed good. He wasn’t quite sure if he could count this as a friendly encounter, but nobody was shooting and that made it the best one so far! He sat cross-legged in front of the fire. The warmth felt strange through his damp clothes.

“Any chance you have food?” Naegi asked.

The man snorted. “Does it look like we got extra?”

. . . Maybe? He squinted. They didn’t look _that_ skinny. Why, they had muscle on their arms. That wasn’t starving at all!

“. . . Right,” Naegi said. “It’s fine. I wasn’t that hungry anyways. I know you said the Future Foundation wasn’t here, but do you know how to find them?”

The man shrugged. “Dunno. Walk around. Eventually you’ll find ‘em or one of those cities they keep trying to build. Same thing.”

“There’s cities around?” Naegi said, confused. Hadn’t Ultimate Despair destroyed everything?

“None of the old ones,” the woman said. “The Future Foundation’s tried to found some new ones, bring back the old ways.”

“Some cities,” the man grumbled. “More like prison camps. Stocked with tight-ass soldiers, and terrorists sneaking in and blowing people up left, right and center. Glad we’re not part of that!”

That sounded unpleasant, but that was life, wasn’t it? People died, but you remembered them and memorialized them as stars in the deep space of Hope. And it’s not like anyone was going to try and blow _him_ up.

“You’re talking about the right Future Foundation, right? The _real_ one, not a fake one?”

“. . . The fuck’s a fake Future Foundation?” the man asked.

“People pretending to be the Future Foundation,” Naegi said, unable to explain further. “I told you, I met some of them. The Future Foundation you’re talking about, it’s Kirigiri-san’s Future Foundation, right?”

“Yeah, she’s in it,” the man said with a shrug. “Always looking down at the regular people and trying to tell us how to think . . .”

“It’s not her fault she’s a genius!” Naegi snapped. The man bared his teeth at him.

The woman spoke up. “This fake Future Foundation, what were they like? I reckon it’s good for us to know.”

“There were three of them,” Naegi said, “and one of them was _Despair_ : Yukizome Chisa. She’s evil!”

The man picked at his ear. “Isn’t that the girl of the Future Foundation’s chairman, that Munakata guy?”

“No, no! He’s not the chairman of the Future Foundation . . .”

The man laughed harshly. “Hell, you actually believe it’s the old man? Don’t be a fool. That’s what they want you all to think.”

“But Munakata with the fake Future Foundation,” Naegi said. “Who cares who runs that group?”

The man gave him an odd look. “Kid . . . Naegi, that’s the real deal. Everything and their dog knows Munakata runs the Future Foundation.”

“No, that can’t be right. You just said Kirigiri-san . . .”

“She works for him.”

Naegi shook his head wildly. “No. No, no, no. Kirigiri-san _can’t_. Didn’t you see her on the broadcast? She’s good. She _named_ me. Kirigiri-san isn’t . . . she’s not a murderer!”

“Shit, we’re all murderers!” the man said with a hack. “How the hell do you think we deal with all those bear-fucking lunatics?”

“. . . They’re probably lying,” Naegi said, half to himself. “Of _course_ they would want everyone to think they’re working with Kirigiri-san. All the prestige that would bring . . . I bet everyone’s claiming they know her somehow.”

“Haven’t you been watching the goddamn television?” the man said.

Naegi just stared at him for a few seconds. “. . . I was too busy being kidnapped.”

They both laughed. The woman said, “Oh, yes! Forgot about that.”

“Well, you ought to have seen it,” the man said. “Those two schmoozing it on stage, always talking about how ‘The Future Foundation this’ and ‘The Future Foundation that.’ ”

A iron band squeezed his chest. Breathes coming out in shallow pants, Naegi snapped, “Prove it!”

“Fuck, you think we take souvenirs or something?” the man said. “I ain’t got proof.”

“What about those recruitment posters they left lying around?” the woman said.

The two bantered back and forth for a bit before Naegi could wring a meaning out of them. Apparently, the Future Foundation had hung some posters at a nearby (now destroyed) hamlet and that had a picture of all their division bosses. He’d admit he was rather rude in his departure, but they deserved it! Sort of. Well, they shouldn’t have accused Kirigiri like that!

Though, Naegi thought as he made his way through the bush, maybe it was a misunderstanding. It could very easily be mistaken identity – yes, why hadn’t he thought of that before? If they had only glanced at the poster and saw a beautiful woman with purple hair, it would only be natural to assume it was Kirigiri. That was it. He’d find that poster, and prove his theory true.

Thank goodness for clear-cutting! That wasn’t a phrase he would normally use, but he did now. For if he hadn’t stepped into that area of chopped down trees, he doubted he would have found the hamlet. It looked like it had once been snug, but there were no immediate signs of anyone living in the area. Evidence of past farming was plentiful, what with wide open fields divided into rectangles and roads between them. Instead of crops, clumps of grass thrived where nature had placed their seeds. The buildings near him were spread out, but further into the village, they were close together; that was probably the village’s main road. If he were the Future Foundation, he would want to place propaganda where everyone would see it. Like a town hall . . . or a grocery store.

He trudged towards it. The abandoned fields made for surprisingly easy walking. Despite everything that had happened to this place, the grocery store was well-marked and easy to locate. And yes, there were signs on the walls.

This was it. He ran forward. Maybe he’d take this with him and . . .

He stopped.

That wasn’t right. There was the Future Foundation – _Munakata’s_ Future Foundation – and there was Sakakura, Yukizome and Mitarai standing in the line that fanned out from both sides of their leader. And on the very end, labeled the Head of Public Relations was . . . was . . .

“No.”

 _Yes_ , the poster said back.

“No. . . she wouldn’t . . . _no!”_

The Kirigiri in the poster stared back at him with a stern look. He remembered when he saw that in the first trial, when Kirigiri guided him, when he realized he had to pursue the truth no matter how much it hurt. And the truth was . . .

She was one of them.

Kirigiri . . . his friends . . . _Everyone_ was a murderer.

“Kirigiri-san . . . _why_?”

Tears fell. He wasn’t crying. He was _wailing_. Long howls that would have sent people running while screaming about ghosts. This shouldn’t have struck him so hard, but it did and he didn’t understand why. Just that something inside him had finally buckled and given way. He collapsed, and he just lay there as snot and tears ran down his face.

When the tears stopped, he was spent. He felt like he had finished a marathon. He lay there until morning, not shivering even when the night’s chill set upon him. The eyes of the Future Foundation looked down upon him coldly.

He should move. He couldn’t lay here forever. Only . . . where did he go? The Future Foundation, Ultimate Despair . . . what was left? Nothing, perhaps? Perhaps that was the answer. He could wander, like. . . like a minstrel of Hope! That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Delivering presents of Hope to all the good boys and girls . . .

He rolled onto his back. The sky was blue. The clouds were white. They moved . . .

That wasn’t a cloud.

Was that a blimp? He thought so. Then he backed into a doorway because the only people with blimps would probably either be the Future Foundation or Ultimate Despair. It was an odd-looking blimp. On either side, two boxes bordered by thick black lines carved out a patch of empty space. He had a feeling something should go there.

And just as he thought that, something _was_ there.

Ah, this wasn’t just a blimp. It was a lightship, one of those special blimps that could play videos. And this one. . . _this one_. . .

“. . . Komaeda-kun?”

Komaeda didn’t answer him. On the blimp’s screens, only the upper half of the older teen’s body could be seen. The camera was centered on him, and he seemed acutely uncomfortable with that. Naegi stepped out from the doorway. This was the first time he’d seen Komaeda since . . . since he’d remembered what _real_ Hope was.

“Naegi-kun. . .” Komaeda handled his name like silk. “Hi, uh . . . if you can hear me . . . Sorry, I’m not sure how to start this.”

On-screen Komaeda laughed awkwardly. He looked hot and uncomfortable, maybe even nervous.

“I know what’s going on. Kamukura-kun and the others filled me in. And . . . I don’t know. The others would want me to say I’m disappointed in you. I can’t do that because I . . . I understand. It’s not your fault. I drove you away.”

Naegi looked up. “Komaeda-kun?

“What happened between us, what existed between us, it wasn’t what I wanted to believe. You told me so many times that what I tried to show you wasn’t hope, that the things I did to you were . . . I was a monster . . . you were right. You were right all along. I wasn’t who I said I was. I was . . . I don’t know. I don’t know!”

Komaeda made a strange sound. It was a sound Naegi didn’t associate with him at all, to the point where it took him a while to realize it was a sob.

“I don’t know why I . . . I just wanted . . . I . . . I’m sorry! I’m not lucky. I’m a pathetic husk filled with poison who smothers everything around me. That’s the only thing I can do right! I got a taste of your despair and I couldn’t stop and I kept going and going and going . . . It wasn’t supposed to go that far, I swear.”  

Komaeda wiped his eyes. “I can’t ask you to forgive me. Someone as worthless as me hasn’t earned that privilege. But I . . . I’ll be better for you. I promise. Please . . . I’m so sorry. Kamukura-kun told me what happened and I heard rumours about what’s been happening to you since you disappeared. . . Just . . . _please_. Naegi-kun, come home.”

Komaeda was breathing heavily, neck bent, face hidden in his heads. The screens on the lightships flickered, and then went dark. Naegi, blinked, and then ran after the drifting lightship, half-convinced that if he looked at it at the right angle, Komaeda would still be there.

“Wait!” he called as he reached out for the distant lightship. But things moved much faster in the air than they did down here and the lightship easily slipped away. He skidded to a stop and wiped away his tears.

Komaeda . . . Komaeda had come back. For him. That was why, right? He didn’t know. He hadn’t been there to witness it. As he thought about that, he looked around and the world seemed cold and lonely.

“. . . You came back for me.”

Naegi closed his eyes. His clothes fluttered in the wind. Silently, he sunk to the ground, pulled his knees to his chest, and didn’t move.

* * *

The truck rumbled down the old road. The rising sun bathed it in shades of pink and yellow. Nidai, head sticking out the window, drove with one hand as he looked around. In the passenger’s seat, Owari idly glanced through her window.

“Finally, some light,” she said. “Kept thinking I was deaf or something.”

“Deaf?”

“Yeah, you know. When it’s dark out you can’t see anything, so it’s like being deaf.”

“Bwahaha! Ah, Owari-san, you’re messing up your words again.”

“I’m not messing up anything!” Owari protested. “Saionji told me that was the right word and _whoa -_!”

Smoke rose from the tires as Nidai slammed on the brakes. The pickup screeched to a stop and hadn’t even fully stopped moving by the time Nidai leapt out the door. He shielded his eyes from the sun and looked at what had been caught in the center of the headlights.

Owari jumped out, too. “Hey-!”

Nidai shushed her. “No sudden movements.”

They and the figure in the headlights stared at each other. No one dared speak.

Then, Naegi took a step forwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> People have things to say.


	98. The Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super tired today guys. Which is good for all of you because that means early chapter so I can sleep.

“You’re still here?”

Komaeda shrugged. He was on the second floor of their headquarters, perched on a chair that he had pulled up to a window overlooking the entrance. There was a pick-up truck easing towards it and knowing who was inside, Komaeda grimaced.

“You need to be there,” Kamukura insisted. “You are the reason he returned. It will pain him if you do not receive him.”

“Maybe he needs that,” Komaeda said. “Kamukura-kun, I haven’t seen him since . . . _that_. What if I can’t control myself when I see him and revert? What’s going to stop me from throttling him?”

There was a short silence. Komaeda took a long, laboured breath before Kamukura shrugged and spoke.

“I will knock you unconscious if you try,” Kamukura said.

“. . . Thank you,” Komaeda said genuinely.

The two of them walked down to the entrance. The rest of Ultimate Despair, barring Owari and Nidai, were already present, having been called back from their search duties once Naegi had been located. All of them watched the pick-up truck as it pulled up to the entrance.

“I believe in your language you call this ‘showtime’,” Nevermind said.

* * *

As the engine’s purring cut out, Naegi limply offered his wrist. He knew what was coming. They hadn’t handcuffed him on the ride here, but that was because Naegi had been forced to sit with Nidai. Now that they were back though . . . last time he was caught running, he hadn’t been allowed to leave his bed. He could only imagine how much he’d be restricted this time.

Nidai looked at him. “. . . Come on.”

Nidai opened and the door and waited for him. Cuffless, Naegi slid out. He didn’t jump; he wasn’t sure if his body could handle the impact.

A heavy hand on his shoulder firmly guided him. Owari followed Nidai. Neither of the two had said much after he had found him.

The first one of them he saw was Mikan. She bounced in the doorway until her patience could no longer handle it. She came out to them and Naegi braced himself – ah, there it was! – for the loud wail and hug. Apparently, she didn’t care that he was covered in dirt. In fact, he thought wryly, she seemed intent on producing enough tears for him to take a bath.

“M-Makoto!” Her hug would definitely leave bruises.

He had readied himself for a tear-filled scolding, but it didn’t come. Mikan couldn’t do anything but say his name over and over again, and that hurt worse somehow then the verbal punishment he had been expecting; because he had to admit that he’d missed her, too. Thus, after a few awkward moments, he hugged back, shutting his eyes as his forehead pressed against her.

Nidai slapped him on the back. “Come on.”

Mikan was still attached to him when Nidai began pulling him inside. Naegi looked upward, watching the sky disappear. He wondered if he would ever see it again.

The others stepped forward once he was inside. There were too many of them; they blocked his view and he couldn’t find Komaeda.

“Everyone’s here?” Nidai asked.

“Yeah,” Koizumi said. “Considering we were out further than you were, I’m surprised we made it back first. What took you so long?”

“Naegi-kun _insisted_ we make a pitstop,” Nidai said.

They made small talk. Naegi didn’t pay attention. His eyes were caught by that mop of white hair that was standing separate from the rest of the group. Once their eyes locked, Komaeda started to walk over.

“Komaeda-kun!” His heart beat so fervidly that it hurt. He both couldn’t think and thought too much.

Komaeda spoke carefully. “Naegi-kun.”

“H-here!”

With that, Naegi thrust the bouquet of flowers he’d begged Nidai to let him pick. It hit Komaeda in the chest. Komaeda took them hesitantly. He stared at them, carefully rearranged them and Naegi was _dying_.

“D-do you like them?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“G-good!” He broke out into a large grin. “I wasn’t sure what kind of flowers you liked, or where I could get flowers, b-but I did the best I could!”

“Ah.”

Naegi’s grin faltered. Komaeda seemed distant. That wasn’t normal. If everyone hadn’t been watching him, he would have sniffed himself to check if that was why.

“I think it would be prudent for Tsumiki-san to perform a medical evaluation,” Nevermind said.

No surprises there. When Mikan began herding him away, he reached for Komaeda’s hand. He must have missed because Komaeda wouldn’t have – how could he _ever?_ – moved out of the way like that.

Mikan spent his exam sniffling, but otherwise didn’t speak a whole lot. The diagnosis wasn’t much of a surprise: significant weight loss, fatigue, and of course, the bite wound. Luckily, he appeared to have evaded infection, but she carefully cleaned and wrapped his arm anyways.

Throughout his examination, members of Despair had randomly wandered in and lingered before leaving. Naegi didn’t look at them, not wanting the confrontation. When his exam ended, there was only Kuzuryu and Komaeda watching them.

“Someone needs to clean him up,” Kuzuryu said bluntly.

Komaeda worked his jaw. “Are you . . .?”

“Not _you_!” Kuzuryu snapped. “Fuck, I’ll go get Tanaka.”

It made sense, Naegi guessed. Tanaka bathed wild animals. What was a runaway Naegi in comparison? He obeyed the Breeder’s silent prompts lifelessly, watching as his dirt-stained skin gradually became clear. When he was done and all cleaned up, he and Tanaka stared at each other, the memory of Naegi’s recent disappearance at the front of their minds.

“B-bad."

Naegi blinked. “Huh?”

Tanaka bopped him on the nose. “Bad.”

Naegi rubbed his nose as Tanaka skulked off.

Outside, Mikan was waiting for him. When he walked out, she jumped as if he had jabbed a taser into her side. Squealing, eyes closed, she thrust something out at him just as he had thrust the bouquet at Komaeda.

“H-here. I thought you m-might want him. He was very lonely without you.”

Naegi took his stuffed rabbit from her shaking hands. He turned it all ways as if seeing it for the first time. Those black eyes, positioned over the small little nose and gentle smile, looked back at him.

“Shh . . .” Mikan wiped away tears he hadn’t noticed from under his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. Y-you should eat.”

He clutched the rabbit tight to his chest and followed her.

Instead of a Monokuma, Hanamura personally delivered his meal. It was a small plate, about half the size of what he would usually get– something that didn’t seem to sit well with the Chef. He muttered something about Kamukura and Mikan insisting, then slunk off. He didn’t go far though; he lingered in the back of the room, watching.

“I’m not that hungry,” Naegi said.

Mikan jabbed his fork into a couple of beans and held it up to his lips. “Eat.”

There was no reason to refuse, and it was _food_. He wouldn’t win this fight even if he had the energy to try. He let Mikan feed him as he stared mindlessly ahead. Kuzuryu came in at some point, followed by Nevermind.

About halfway through, the part of his mind responsible for hunger woke up. Mikan’s feeding became much too slow and if she hadn’t given the fork to him, he would have eaten off the plate like a dog. The edge of his fork scraped the plate as he gathered every speck.

“Can I have more?” he asked, holding up his empty plate.

And to his complete surprise, Mikan shook her head. “You haven’t eaten for a while. You need to start slow.”

“I’m still hungry,” Naegi said. “That wasn’t enough. I usually eat more.”

“Your brain hasn’t realized your stomach is full,” Mikan murmured. “You need to be careful with how much you eat.”

“I usually eat more! I’m starving!” Frustrated, Naegi stood up and turned to Hanamura. “Hanamura-kun, you have more, right?”

“Well . . .” The Chef sighed heavily. “I do, but . . .”

“Somebody’s got to eat it,” Naegi said. “Might as well be me.”

Mikan said, “B-but . . .!”

Naegi whirled around, ready to tear his hair out. “Are you trying to starve me-?”

 _Whack_. Nevermind’s hand came down hard on his neck.

“That’s enough,” she said.

“B-but-!”

Kuzuryu hissed, “ _Zip it_.”

His mouth shut and he whimpered. Panic fluttered in his chest, bashing against his ribs like a caged bird desperate to escape. He remembered what it felt like to starve. Like your stomach was full of poison, and there was a razor-wire tornado tearing you apart from the inside.

But as Nevermind and Kuzuryu sat across from him, he realized he didn’t know if he feared starvation or what they could do to him more.

“Tsumiki, you know we got to speak to him. Alone.”

That sounded bad. Even worse, Mikan actually got up and left. Hanamura, too, was leaving the room.

Kuzuryu snapped his fingers. “Arm.”

Naegi stretched out his arm. Kuzuryu grabbed it and with his other hand, locked something around Naegi’s wrist. It was a metallic bracelet of some kind, black and just narrow enough that he couldn’t pull it off.

“You ever heard of electric fences?” Kuzuryu asked. When Naegi nodded, he said, “Good. Think of that as being your situation. See that bracelet? That’s your electric collar. It’s not going to fucking shock you, but you step outside the boundary, and it’s going to send out an alarm and inject you with a sleeping potion. Ditto for if you try to take it off. Got it? No more of these running around outside shit. You stay here within our fucking boundaries, or else.”

Nevermind smiled. “I don’t believe we need to explain the ‘or else.’ It isn’t a situation we are going to encounter. The world is not the same as it was in your childhood. I’m sure you discovered that. You’ve satisfied your wanderlust and no longer wish to run, correct?”

Naegi was silent.

“. . . Fuck. _Fuck!_ ” Kuzuryu leapt to his feet and threw his fedora across the room. “ _FUCK!_ Are you fucking kidding me, Naegi? Have you seriously not learned a fucking lesson yet? What do we have to do to finally jam this into your fucking brain?”

Kuzuryu collapsed back into his chair. He hunched over the table, head in his hands.

“Makoto, look at me,” Nevermind ordered. “I want you to see what I have here.”

Kirigiri’s cellphone clattered onto the tabletop. Naegi bit his lip and said nothing.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Kuzuryu said. “I know what this is. I know what you’ve been using it for. I know _who_ is on the other end. But here’s the funny thing. You were gone for _days_. Want to know how many missed calls you have? None. Nada. Not a single fucking message asking if you’re alright. I was hoping she would call, actually. Kirigiri isn’t as smart as she thinks; I could get her to say something useful. But not a single fucking call. You get what I’m saying? She didn’t care you were gone. _She doesn’t care_.”

Nevermind spoke. “Makoto, I’m going to ask you a question. After that glorious spectacle where your classmates murdered each other, who saved you from that wasteland?”

“. . . Komaeda-kun.”

“Indeed. Now, who’s been feeding you?”

“. . . You guys.”

“And who is it that has protected you? Who have done their best to keep you strong and healthy? Who have done everything within their power to make you comfortable?”

“You guys,” Naegi choked.

“Okay. So where the _fuck_ has Kirigiri-san been during all that?” Kuzuryu screamed, and real hatred blazed in his eyes. “What the hell has she been doing? Sucking up to the heads of the Future Foundation while lying about how she’s totally working on spiriting you away? We’ve killed people for you. People like Tanaka and Saionji torpedoed our foreign plans so they could come back and keep your sorry ass company. We hijacked airwaves and the fucking sky to get you back here! What the fuck has Kirigiri been doing for you?”

“She . . . she . . .” Somehow, Kuzuryu had managed to wring more tears out of him.

“You want the fucking truth? She doesn’t care. Even if she does, it doesn’t matter because the fucking Future Foundation doesn’t care! They don’t care. _We_ care. You got that? They don’t give a shit about you!”

“Stop . . .”

“Look at me, Naegi. Tell me this: where the hell are you going to go? Huh? We’re the only ones who care about your ass. So, you leave us, where the fuck else are you going to go?” And with that, the great Yakuza’s voice took on a hysteric edge. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Nobody’s waiting for you out there. There’s nowhere for you to go!”

Naegi swallowed back his scream. “N- no . . .”

“Makoto.” This was the sternest he had ever seen Nevermind. “There is no one for you to go to _!_ ”

Nevermind pulled something out of her breast pocket. She began to turn it around -

Out of nowhere, Kamukura grabbed her wrist.

“No,” he said.

“Fuck!” Kuzuryu leapt to his feet and pulled out a pistol. He pointed it straight at Kamukura’s head, but Kamukura didn’t seem bothered. He was eerily calm, watching Kuzuryu with nothing less than predatory intent. All attention was on that standoff.

All but Naegi’s, who had been caught by a corner of the photo folded his way. There was part of a person, hair, but it made his palms start sweating for some reason.

Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed the photo.

It slipped between his fingers.

Naegi said. “When . . .? Why did you . . .?”

“Wasn’t us,” Kuzuryu grunted. “They were dead before you even got out of the school. We just didn’t tell you.”

Kamakura gaped. “Naegi-kun?”

Naegi’s head flopped down, giving him a perfect view of that photograph and his parents’ corpses. He should cry for them. He didn’t. There was nothing inside him anymore.

“Hey!” The safety went off. “Back off.”

Kamukura stared at Naegi, and it was the most emotion he had ever read on the other’s face. Face solemn, Kamukura released Nevermind. Without a word, he walked out of the room.

“Good riddance. Now back to business.” Kuzuryu said, “Look, we’re willing to overlook this shitstorm under one condition.”

The ominous words did nothing. There was nothing inside him.

Kuzuryu slid the object forward. “Prove you’re done running.”

Naegi stared at him dully. There was nothing inside him. No grief. No anger. No joy.

No reason to refuse.

Naegi reached out. Even though his mind was blank, his body still hesitated. The world seemed to sway back and forth.

“Well?” Kuzuryu said.

Naegi picked the object up.

He snapped Kirigiri’s cellphone in half.

“Good boy.” Kuzuryu stood. “Glad we understand each other. Get some rest.”

And Naegi was left alone.

His feet mindlessly carried him to his room. He wasn’t even aware he was moving. Once he was inside, it was too much mental effort to find his bed and lay in it; he sunk to the middle of the floor instead. His eyes were the only parts of him that stayed still as he trembled.

He’d gotten out. After months of pain and planning and hoping, he’d finally done it. He’d gotten out, and no one had come for him. Here he was, back at the beginning. Kirigiri hadn’t come for him. The Future Foundation had . . . they were _monsters_. He had no doubts now, no reason to believe anything but Ultimate Despair’s assertion that the Future Foundation had shot Kuma. That would be two of his friends murdered by those he had believed to be saviours and in the end, the only thing his escape accomplished was getting his friends killed.

The world was a circle, and each route led back to the same place: the small underground room that was his bedroom. His breathing quickened. This fast pulse seemed to be his new default. Panic, never far away, swamped him as he began to understand:

This was his life now.

He rocked back and forth. There were no tears, though his eyes burned. He moaned, and his incisors sunk into the loose flesh of his knuckles. This was his life now. There was no escape. There was no future. This was his life, trapped here in this airless, underground room until the unforeseeable situation where Ultimate Despair tired of him. He would spend the rest of his life a slave, and they would feed him and watch over him and love him . . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

Was that it?

That was it?

That . . .

That was what he had been running from this whole time?

A metallic taste burst over his tongue as his teeth drew blood. All this time. All this pain and effort and _people dying_ so he could get away from people who only wanted to love him? He touched his lips, remembering his first kiss. Ultimate Despair, who had allowed him to feed off them like a parasite, who had put up with his repeated escape attempts with nothing more than patience and distress . . . None of that was _evil_. Even Kuzuryu only yelled at him because he deserved it. So why did he . . .? Why had he been so convinced they were evil?

He laughed bitterly, and tried to wipe sweat off his forehead that he _knew_ was there. Had he ever _once_ considered that Ultimate Despair might not be the bad guys? God, he was . . . he was so _brainwashed_. His delusions about the Future Foundation had blinded him to the truth that had slapped him in the face over and over and _over_ again.

“I’m such a fool.”

He still felt nothing, yet that laughter had to be bubbling up from somewhere. And laugh he did. He laughed and laughed until his throat constricted from the muscular strain and he could barely pause long enough to draw breath. His pupils widened, nearly erasing all colour from his eyes.

Dumb. Dumb, dumb, _dumb_. He had been a dumb fool brainwashed by these preconceived notions of Ultimate Despair and the Future Foundation, of good and evil. Because – it all made _sense_ – there was no good and evil, not the kind everyone outside Despair had tried to teach him. It was all mindless propaganda he’d swallowed like a fool. What was good was bad, and what was bad was good and to realize that, to realize they’d been playing him this entire time and everything he’d done was a waste, it . . . it . . .

It was so **_despairing_**.

Despair and Hope . . . Hope and Despair . . . They were two sides of the same coin. Hope was good and that was why. . . Ultimate Despair wasn’t evil. The Ultimate Hope living side by side with Ultimate Despair sounded like a paradox, but it wasn’t because they were part of the same coin, bound together at the most intimate of levels. Not by a web, not by a dance of fate as he had earlier postulated. It was symbiosis. Despair was evil, but heroes could not exist without their villains, and happiness meant so little if one didn’t possess grief or rage to compare it to. He was a flame meant to cleanse the world of despair, but no one would have lit that fire in the first place unless there was something to burn.

He had been such a fool. Though he was destined to destroy despair, he _needed it_.

Despair wasn’t his enemy.

Despair wasn’t a monster hiding under his bed.

Despair was . . .

Despair was his mother.

And Enoshima had known, and Komaeda had known, and Ultimate Despair had known and they hadn’t been crazy. It hadn’t been lies. He was a child of Despair, heir to its throne. Enoshima wasn’t an evil monster who had brought upon the apocalypse and gleefully killed her classmates for her pleasure; she was a devoted mother ensuring a future for her child.

He was such a   f

 

                                  o

 

                                     o

 

                                         l

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His body still twitched and jerked with the motions of laughter, but what came out of his throat were gurgles. Foam dripped from his mouth at irregular intervals, spilling down his chin as he rocked. Back and forth he went, eyes rolling up into his skull. Such a fool he was. Such a fool.

His chin dipped. His body went still, like a robot entering shutdown. His head rolled on his neck in spastic, twitchy movements until he could see straight ahead.

He smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His eyes swirled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> All things come to their close.


	99. The End of an Era

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the most amazing discovery. Apparently, when you get gift works and stuff, you're actually supposed to go to your dashboard and click this little box that automatically links your works. THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER GUYS!
> 
>  
> 
> why doesn't a03 have pms? Then it would be perfect

Something was wrong.

His body was sore, but the ground under him was soft and yielding. He was hungry. _Very_ hungry, but it wasn’t quite the mindless, tearing pain he remembered. Even without looking at or touching it, he knew that his skin was smooth and clean and his hair was untangled.

“Hey, are you awake?”

Naegi knew that voice. His muscles pried his gunky eyelids apart in one swift movement. Though his body complained, he forced himself to throw the blanket aside and sit up. He was already smiling. He remembered now. He wasn’t out there in the wasteland, scavenging for food like a dirty animal. He was home, and the one who had woken him was the one he wanted to see most.

“I’m awake!” he said breathlessly. “Good morning!”

“Morning? It’s five in the afternoon.” Komaeda glanced around. “Ah, right. You don’t have a clock in here.”

“That’s okay!” Naegi said. “It doesn’t matter what time it is. I’m always glad to see you!”

He felt drool pooling at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with his sleeve.

Komaeda said, “They want to know if you’re feeling up for dinner.”

“Yes. _Yes!_ ” This was the best day ever! “I’m starving. Mikan wouldn’t let me have seconds before and . . .”

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” Komaeda said quickly, already standing to leave.

Naegi followed him. He eyed Komaeda’s arm as it swung back and forth with his steps. He picked up his pace as to close the distance, feeling gleefully sneaky and sly as he reached forward . . .

With gentle care, he entangled his hand with Komaeda’s.

Naturally, Komaeda’s first reaction to an unknown touch was to his hand away. Naegi smiled, waiting until Komaeda realized it was just him and relaxed. And although Komaeda’s body did relax, Naegi couldn’t quite say the same for his aura. Komaeda seemed nervous.

“Naegi-kun?”

“I th-thought it would be okay. You know, because of our . . . relationship.” Naegi said that last part with a whisper, and giggled as he wrapped his arms around himself so he wouldn’t keep grabbing at Komaeda’s hand. “Sorry. I didn’t think to check if you were okay with it first.”

Komaeda leaned away. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Naegi asked.

“ _Don’t tempt me_.” Komaeda tugged at his hair, his pupils growing wide as his teeth gashed together. “Don’t say that kind of stuff!”

“R-right! I’m sorry.” Naegi wrung his hands together. “I shouldn’t question our relationship. That’s part of why I ended up causing so much trouble.”

“ _Stop!_ ”

“Komaeda-kun . . . ?”

Komaeda whirled around, grabbed him by the upper arm and shook him. “ _We’re not in a relationship!_ ”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Naegi stared. He was so shocked, he didn’t even come an inch closer to tearing up.

“Ngh!” Komaeda panted heavily. His face steadily lost color, although Naegi imagined his scalp must be getting red with how much he kept yanking on his hair. “I. . . We . . . Yes! Yes, I am!”

That was . . . Honestly, he couldn’t say it was unexpected. With all the trouble he had caused, how could Komaeda be blamed for breaking up with him?

He wanted to beg, to tell Komaeda that he understood now and that he’d had a serious revelation last night about his purpose, but Komaeda beat him to talking.

“Naegi-kun,” Komaeda croaked. “I promise I would be better for you. The first step to keep that promise . . . it’s breaking up with you. It’s not your fault. I need time.”

“Al-alright.” Not a complete rejection. So there was hope, then. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll wait for you.”

Komaeda groaned. He placed both hands on the wall and his forehead swung towards it as if to bash his skull in, but it slowed right before impact.

“Go to dinner,” Komaeda ordered.

“Eh?”

“Go to dinner,” Komaeda repeated more firmly. “Go to dinner and don’t wait for me and . . . Just stay away from me.”

It hurt. But orders were orders. He backed up, and then turned around and left Komaeda behind. His thoughts were quiet and cold as he scurried through the hall.

But they didn’t stay that way for long.

“Naegi-kun!”

The entire room lit up when he opened that door. Mioda squealed and zipped across the room, glomping onto his side as she foamed at the mouth and nearly collapsed from excitement. And the others were there, too; standing up from their seats and coming over. Nidai head-locked him and grinded his knuckles into Naegi’s skull playfully. Soda and Owari wanted a fist bump, Kamukura was making his way over, and poor Mikan was unsuccessfully trying to fight her way through the crowd to him.

The Imposter nodded. “Glad to have you back.”

Naegi smiled. “Thank you. Mioda-san, can you stop hugging me for a second? I want to talk to Kuzuryu-kun and Nevermind-san.”

It was quite well known within Despair that Naegi and Kuzuryu had clashed frequently in the past. That was why everyone quieted down when Naegi walked up to him. Kuzuryu, arms crossed across his chest, stared at him, stretching his neck to look taller. Nevermind glanced sideways at him, then ever so subtly edged in front of him.

“I wanted to thank you two for yesterday,” Naegi said. “What you told me, I really needed to hear that. I’ve had time think it over now, and I’ve decided I’m done. I’m done running, and I mean it.”

Behind Kuzuryu, Pekoyama stirred uncomfortably.

“All is forgiven,” Nevermind said. “We trust you to be honest about this.”

“What she said. As long as you mean it and stick to it, you’re all right by me. Good to hear you’ve finally got your head on straight,” Kuzuryu said.

Naegi turned to the others. “Guys, I really am sorry for everything. I haven’t been thinking straight these past months. But I understand now. No more trouble, I promise. We’ll . . . we’ll change this world together. The Future Foundation won’t know what hit them.”

“Hah! Now we’re talking.” Kuzuryu raised his hand for a fist bump, which Naegi gladly returned.

Nevermind stepped forward and took his hand. “If you are feeling better, we should hold a press conference. We wouldn’t want the Future Foundation to make false accusations about where your loyalties lay.”

“Yeah.” Naegi forced himself to swallow when he realized drool was pooling in his mouth again. “That’ll spread Hope, right?”

Nevermind smiled as her eyes swirled. “Yes. It’ll spread _lots_ of hope.”

He grinned as she led him to his place at the dinner table.

How wonderful it was to have company again! He never moved from his spot at the table, clinging onto Mikan’s arm as if his life depended on it. Everyone spoke to him and asked so many questions and it made him dizzy, but he tried. He really did. He was _so happy_ to be with his friends again.

The day passed in a blur. He followed behind them like a duckling, finding a new person to follow every time he lost the one who was leading him. He followed Tanaka until he went outside. He followed Owari until she went to the gym and started hinting at fighting him. Then he ended up following Kuzuryu and Pekoyama until something else caught his eye.

The door to the prison was open. He wasn’t sure if it was nostalgia or a need for closure that guided him, but he walked inside. The cells were . . . fuller than usual and the people inside seemed fresher. Most of them were injured; he could smell blood. They weren’t skinny either. They actually looked healthy. . . Ah, that was right. Ultimate Despair had been fighting the Future Foundation in the streets. They must have taken the opportunity to refill their stocks.

“The fuck?” a man in the cell closest to him said. “Is that . . .? They told us . . . Were they lying to us?”

He would have explained, but he could see the despair sweep over the man. It excited him. His first day back and already he was having a chance to be Hope!

“Hey, it’s not like that,” Naegi said, dropping to his knees. Better to hold eye contact, make that hopeful connection. “Don’t think that way. They weren’t trying to fool you.”

“You’re here!” the man choked out. “You’re here and they said . . .”

“I know,” Naegi said. “I know what they were thinking. They had reason to think I was out there. Nobody meant for you to end up here.”

“God . . . Oh, God . . .”

“Hey, look at me,” Naegi said. He reached through the bars and placed a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s going to be fine. You just have to stay strong.”

“Fine?” the man half-choked, half-whimpered.

“Yes,” he lied. “The Future Foundation’s growing stronger every day, isn’t it? It’s only a matter of time before they bust in here and open this cell. Trust me. Or if you can’t do that, trust yourself to survive this.”

“Okay. Okay,” the man whispered under his breath. He leaned into Naegi’s touch, and took deep breaths with his eyes closed.

“That’s it.” With his free hand, Naegi grabbed the man’s hand. “Stay strong. Remember what you’re fighting for. As long as you do that, they will never break you.”

The man’s head fell against the bars. Naegi could see the despair retreating, so he did, too. It was a shame though, that what he said had been a lie. This man would break. They all would. That was the way of things, and Ultimate Despair would make sure of it.

Naegi clicked his tongue. Pity. Such a pity. These prisoners would die deep in despair. What a terrible, terrible way to go. They would die here cold and alone, and the only people who would witness it were the Despairs that performed the execution. Nobody would even get Hope out of it! Such a shame.

Naegi looked down the corridor of cells, and he had an idea.

He ran out of the room, destination clear in his mind. Dinner had passed, so the kitchen wouldn’t be too busy. Hanamura might not even be there.

As it turned out, Hanamura was present, but that was okay. Better, actually. He loved company! Naegi walked down the kitchen until he found the Chef, and then approached.

“Hello, Hanamura-kun!”

“Hmm? Ah, Naegi-kun! Seeking a rendezvous with me already? I didn’t know we were that close.”

Naegi brushed off the suggestive tone. “I was looking for a snack. Remind me, what am I not supposed to touch again?”

Hanamura gave him a quick rundown and then shook his knife at him. “Be careful about snacking. You’re supposed to be on a strict diet.”

“It’s not much of a diet when you’re trying to make me gain weight!” Naegi shot back as he navigated to the area Hanamura told him _not_ to go to.

Naegi stared at the food there. He didn’t know how poisonous it was, so he grabbed some gloves before touching it.

Despair was a terrible way to go, especially when you ended up dying for nothing. Dying before that, dying while you still had hope . . . that was much better.

Eyes swirling, Naegi grinned and headed back to the prison.

* * *

“But I was going to spread _Hope!_ ”

“Get out of here,” Kamukura said. He tossed Naegi out of the prison by the scruff of his shirt, and stood there until the smaller teen scampered away.

Komaeda stepped forwards. “Kamukura-kun, what are you holding?”

“Poisoned food,” Kamukura said with a sigh. “He was planning to give it to the prisoners.”

“He was going to . . .” Komaeda shook his head, as if this was a nightmare he could wake from. “Oh.”

Kamukura nodded. “This is what we created.”

Komaeda was quiet. Something dripped nearby, filling the silence.

“This is our doing. You understand that?”

Looking a little annoyed, Komaeda said, “It’s hard not to notice.”

Kamukura stepped forward, and his shadow fell sideways against the wall. “This is our mistake. It falls upon us to take responsibility.”

“I know that, too,” Komaeda said. “He’s ours, anyways. Even if we didn’t want him, the others won’t let him go.”

“No,” Kamukura said heavily, “they wouldn’t.”

“. . . What a mess,” Komaeda said. “What a sorry, pathetic, _disgusting_ –”

Kamukura hit over the back of his head. “Don’t do that.”

Komaeda shuddered, and swallowed hard. The swirls faded from his eyes.

“Is there a point to this?” Komaeda muttered. “Hope’s gone. Despair’s all that’s left. What’s the point of trying anymore. . .?”

“Komaeda –”

“Do _you_ think he can be fixed, Kamukura-kun?”

“. . . That’s irrelevant,” Kamukura said. “We caused this. He is our responsibility.”

“I know,” Komaeda said with a sneer. “I’m just being the realistic one this time.”

Komaeda slumped off. Kamukura watched him go without speaking.

Was this really a surprise? He’d been certain from the beginning that this plan would lead to failure. And it had. Naegi may have been Ultimate Hope, he may have been strong, he may have achieved some successes, but he was only one. They had been many, and they had overwhelmed him. The die had been cast since the beginning, the votes locked. Failure was, in the end, inevitable.

This story had come to its close.

_Could this path have been changed? If I had trusted you from the start, could this have gone differently?_

He didn’t know. Ultimate Despair and Ultimate Hope, he could not predict them. Enoshima, the superhuman force trapped within a physical body and Naegi, the painfully average boy who could not be mistaken as anything but human . . . they were beyond his understanding. Kamukura Izuru had been made to possess all known talents in the world.

And neither Hope nor Despair had been known to the world.

_I asked you a question once, Naegi. I asked if sacrificing innocents to save another made one a murderer._

He remembered Naegi’s answer: that he couldn’t answer until he knew the entire story. But times had changed. Naegi knew the story; Naegi _witnessed_ the story. He wondered now what that Naegi would have answered.

_Naegi. . . what say you?_

_Have I murdered you?_

* * *

Dirt danced in the wind in glittering swirls. The Monokumas on guard glanced up at the movement, but quickly dismissed it as a threat. Their sleek metal bodies reflected the sunlight, like they were stars descended to earth.

Naegi stood nearby, careful to stay far enough away that his bracelet wouldn’t set off the alarm. He watched as an outside crew came in from their shift, saluted to the guards, and then entered. They smelt like sweat and mud and the world out there. For a second he paused. For a second, something seemed to stir within him -

He shook his head. Smiling, Naegi turned and walked away.

What was out there no longer mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to that one person who asked whether Kamukura had actually been referring to Naegi when he asked that question.
> 
> Y'all keep asking whether there would be a special 100th chapter. Fine.
> 
> Naegi's story may have ended, but Kamukura's begins next chapter.  
> Maybe I'll even post it early so that ya'll stop despairing


	100. (All the World a Stage)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've reached the pinnacle of my career . Blooboop started a Tv Tropes page for this story. NOWHERE TO GO BUT DOWNWARDS FROM HERE!!!  
> Mandatory link: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/TheLionsDen
> 
>  
> 
> i love how one of the first tropes added is how i'm a troll. you guys have no idea. no idea at all
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, I imagine it'll be quite self-evident, but Nanami's based off the one from early DR3 and SDR2, not the one from late DR3.

Hope’s Peak.

The center of the world itself.

**A ticking time bomb in plain sight.**

It’s located in the heart of the city where you can’t miss it.

**Located in the heart of the city to remind the unworthy of their place.**

This school takes only the best talent each field has to offer.

**Each attending student unwittingly adds to its poison.**

Anyone who was ever anyone went to this school.

**They are but prisoners of their talent.**

This place . . . it’s amazing.

**And this school is a symbolic cage.**

It’s been around for decades, its graduates guiding the world in all imaginable ways.

**For decades, this poison has festered.**

That’s why it’s called an “Academy of Hope.”

**It is a cesspool of despair.**

There’s no application for Hope’s Peak. You have to be scouted by the school itself.

**Hope’s Peak chooses its own students and in doing so, the masses are made worthless.**

Unless you join the school’s Reserve Course.

**As exemplified by the Reserve Course.**

The Reserve Course functions as a prestigious private school for those who can afford to pay.

**This is where the school dumps its despair.**

Students pay thousands to attend, hoping that someday they’ll be allowed into the Main Course.

**It feeds on the naïve. The gullible. The weak.**

I’m one of them. Just waiting for my chance to be _someone_.

**I was one of them once. Now I am something else.**

When I stand here in front of the Main Course gates, I feel . . .

**When I stand here in front of the Main Course gates, I feel. . .**

So unworthy.

**. . .**

Still, more than anything in the world, I wish . . .

**I wish. . .**

I wish I could be one of them.

**I wish I was never born.**

* * *

 

“And if I sign this, you’ll give me a talent?”

“ _A_ talent? My boy, we’ll give you all the talent in the world!”

* * *

 

(Hinata sleeps.)

(Kamukura wakes up.)

* * *

 

Their experiment was a success. He knew that. He’d known since the moment he’d awoken. He passed their tests flawlessly, as he had known he would, as he could have told them before they named him. But, he knew inferior minds like theirs could not grasp that, and needed to witness his talent for themselves. So, he humoured them. He shuffled through his talents like a deck of cards, sighing at their gasps and exclamations.

The tests were boring. They were boring. Their stuttered threats and warnings after they realized he was the closest thing to a living god were boring. His lack of hostility (they were too boring to be threats) mollified their worries however, and soon their talk turned to slightly more interesting things.

“Should we do it? Should we unveil him?”

“Not yet. We still need to test him in the public. We need to compare him to ordinary Ultimates. Oh, before you do so, cut his hair. We can’t have our Ultimate Hope looking like a slob.”

Kamukura sighed. He would be superior, of course. But again, their pitifully dull minds needed to witness it firsthand. He could not say he against the idea, either. Outside this lab lay billions of new people and experiences. Perhaps one or two of them would be mildly interesting.

* * *

“Please welcome our new student, Kamukura Izuru.”

He felt like sighing. They were boring. The teacher could have been momentarily interesting, if she hadn’t made it _so_ _obvious_ that she already knew his name and intended to investigate him. Not that she could have hidden that from him, or have gotten anything useful out of him. Still, she didn’t have to be so mindbogglingly obvious.

He sat at a desk in the back of the room and stared into space. He already knew how to apply the maths she was teaching the rest. How boring. It was hard to believe that the minds of his classmates were so simple they needed these concepts fed to them.

When class was over and they had free time, he didn’t move. His classmates were boring. They were loud, bothersome things. Children. Walking caricatures only accepted by the world because of their supposed talent.

One of the caricatures was approaching. This one was the Ultimate Gamer. That talent required a sharp intellect, mental stamina and a strategic mind. She could have been interesting if he wasn’t already so talented.

He looked her up and down. Reserved. Quiet. Shy with a lonely past. Normally a strange choice for a class representative, but the teacher wanted to see her students grow. The assignment was meant to force this one to face real-life humans. The assignment had been successful in teaching this one to speak to her classmates, but not yet to strangers, as shown in her hesitant approach.

He braced himself for a boring conversation. As the class representative, it was her duty to greet the new student. She would introduce herself and welcome him to the class. She would ask his name, even though she had already heard it, and then ask for his talent. She would react with uncertainty when he –

“. . . I know you.”

 

 

 

 

What?

“Hinata-kun. You’re Hinata-kun.”

“My name is Kamukura Izuru.”

“No, Hinata-kun . . . Hajime. Hinata Hajime.”

He glared at her. Her mind should be sharper than most. She shouldn’t need more than one correction. This was . . .

Slightly interesting.

* * *

“Hinata-kun,” she said. She shoved a string of photographs from a photo booth at him. He glanced at it. He mentally extended the hair, dyed the hair and eyes. Ah, so she hadn’t needed correcting.

“That was my former self,” he said.

“Then you _are_ Hinata-kun?” she said, eyes shining. Why did she need to ask again when he had just answered her?

“I am Kamukura Izuru,” he droned. “I _was_ Hinata Hajime.”

“But . . . No, that’s not . . .”

He started to walk off. “You’re the Ultimate Gamer. You’ve seen this plotline dozens of times.”

But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? In most of her games, no matter how superior the changed character had become, they would have returned to their original selves by the end. An unrealistic outcome to cater to the fans. How boring. He would be dealing with someone who couldn’t properly separate fact from fiction.

Oh well. She’d leave him alone eventually.

* * *

Nanami Chiaki was irritating.

She wouldn’t leave. In the mornings, she waited for him and walked with him in silence to the classroom. During their free time, she’d wander by and try to invite him to boring activities. Afterschool, if he dared to sit anywhere on school grounds, she’d find him, sit down and start playing her games. Her classmates had given up on befriending him long ago, as had the teacher after her sorry attempt at an interrogation, but she would not.

“Hey, hey! This one’s two-player,” she said, holding her handheld console out to him.

He ignored her. The wind shifted, and some of the spray from the fountain behind them tickled his neck.

“It’s fun.”

“I don’t care,” he said.

She shrugged and started playing herself. “You liked this one. . . I think.”

. . . He needed to get rid of her.

He flexed his brain and began to speak. “You’re pitiful. Do you know how pathetic it is to sit here day after day, clinging to a shadow that no longer exists? Is your life that empty and meaningless that . . .? What are you doing?”

She looked up from his wrist. “It’s a flower friendship bracelet. Mioda-san made some for us today.”

He yanked his arm away, and the half-tied bracelet fell off. “I am not your friend.”

She picked up the bracelet calmly. “Hinata-kun is.”

“. . . I am _not_ Hinata Hajime.”

“You told me you were.”

“I _was_.” How many times did he need to say that? “You would understand that if you . . .”

She placed a new game in her console. “This one was your favourite."

He grabbed her wrist and yanked, forcing her through intimidation and surprise to look him in the eye so she would _listen_.

“I am not –”

“Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry. I’m –”

It retreated as suddenly as it had appeared. Kamukura couldn’t get angry. Kamukura had no use or time for emotions. So, he hadn’t been angry. That was illogical. But there had been . . . something.

With her console beeping and clicking, Nanami hopped off the fountain and began to wander off. Kamukura watched her.

He followed.

* * *

“Hinata-kun got angry sometimes,” she said offhandedly.

Kamukura looked down at her silently. Nanami continued walking. She bumped into a mediocre Reserve student, who whirled around with the intent to tell her off, only to realize she was a superior. The student scuttled away, pulling up his collar in a laughable attempt to hide from reprisal. Nanami only looked up well after he was gone, looking confused.

“We played some online games. Sometimes he got angry when he was doing well and someone killed him.” She sucked in her cheeks, thoughtful. “I always killed them afterwards to make him feel better.”

That was expected. She wouldn’t have pursued those vendettas with much emotion, either. Though it was for this Hinata’s sake, her vengeance wasn’t emotional as it would have been for ordinary people. For her, it would have been another side-quest, and Hinata’s reaction would have been another mark in her goal of 100% completion. She would have completed the task with cold, emotionless efficiency, and he found that slightly interesting.

“He gets angry when I let him win,” she said. “He said it didn’t matter if I always beat him. He’s strange like that.”

“You are an Ultimate,” Kamukura said. “Whomever Hinata was, he was unspectacular. He couldn’t realistically defeat someone like you, and he knew it.”

Oddly, that irked her. She glared sideways at him, and said, “Komaeda-kun’s beaten me before. Some games are very dependent on luck.”

“He is an Ultimate,” Kamukura said. “As disappointingly predictable as his talent is, he is still superior to the masses. It is reasonable for him to best you sometimes. But for an inferior being such as Hinata –”

“He’s not inferior.”

So, she didn’t understand. This would be the fault of her teacher, who unlike the rest at Hope’s Peak, refused to teach that truth.

“He was an untalented, unremarkable being underserving of praise. That is why he became me.”

She glared at him. She wasn’t quite angry; he knew it was difficult for her to muster up that kind of emotion. This was a precursor, however.

“I don’t like what they did to you,” she said. “I liked you better before you started calling yourself Kamukura.”

He scoffed. “Hinata was talentless, inferior in every way.”

“But I like him better.”

“He is talentless.”

She shrugged. “I know.”

He stared at her. She, who preferred a talentless nobody over himself. She, who remembered that talentless nothing and found him _superior_.

That was annoying.

* * *

The Nurse ran off, wailing.

“Why are you so mean to them?” Nanami asked.

Kamukura shrugged. “They bore me.”

“That’s not a good reason.”

“They are wasting my time,” Kamukura said.

“But you don’t do anything, so they aren’t really wasting your time.” Nanami pulled out her handheld console again. “Besides, sometimes I think you’re boring.”

He yanked the console out of her hands.

“Explain.”

“You don’t _do_ anything,” Nanami repeated. “You don’t even watch when I play games.”

“That would be boring.”

“When you don’t talk or play games with me, I think it’s boring,” she said. She held her hand out, waiting for him to return her console.

He stared at her.

“You said this one was two-player.”

* * *

“Hinata-kun never seemed bored.”

“Of course not,” Kamukura said. His fingers moved in a rapid, dull sequence as he directed his on-screen character to dodge Nanami’s attacks. “He wasn’t talented. I imagine he mentally struggled with something as basic as tying his shoes.”

“He didn’t tie his shoes very often,” Nanami said. “He ties them once, and then slips his feet in and out of them.”

“How average.”

“Average characters have no strong weaknesses,” she said. She pressed a button on her controller particularly hard, trying to take advantage of what she thought was an opening.

“They also have no strong advantages, which means they are good for _beginners_ , not expert players.” His character struck a critical blow, and sent Nanami’s character flying off-screen. “I win.”

Nanami hummed and immediately returned them to the selection screen for a rematch. “Thanks for playing with me. This is fun.”

“You’ve lost every game.”

“Yes,” she said, “but that’s okay. It’s always fun to play games with friends and . . . I’ve never lost so much before. It’s interesting.”

Interesting? He supposed for one who rarely lost, the experience could be considered that. She’d soon grow tired of it though, given that she seemed intent on continuing to play with him; she would never ever defeat him. She may have been the Ultimate Gamer, but so was he, and he was the Ultimate Analyst who could dissect her strategies, and the Ultimate Psychologist who could predict which strategy she’d choose. This was nothing close to a fair match. He would always emerge victorious.

How boring.

* * *

Trance states. Autohypnosis. Mysticism. Ways to turn the mind inward and conquer it. To shut down the excess so that only what is desired is used. Did these fugue states truly exist the way their practisers claim? For the ordinary, perhaps not. For the greatest talent, naturally.

“You took longer today,” the researcher said as Kamukura finished the latest test. That was good. It was what he wanted. They wouldn’t see it that way, however.

“I’ve done this several times before,” Kamukura said. “It’s _extremely_ boring.”

The researcher shook his head. “I’ll make a note of that.”

Once his physical exam was over, he headed to class. The Chef and Breeder scrambled out of his way when he opened the door. The Mechanic turned his back, ignoring him.

“Ah, Kamukura-kun!” the teacher said. “How was your appointment?”

He stared at her, silent.

“Glad to hear it!” she said. “Now, as I was saying –”

When he sat down at his desk, he reached over to the adjacent desk and shook Nanami awake. “Which game was his favourite?”

They played that game after class. On the surface, it appeared to be a basic strategy game, but the tactics involve were much deeper than first glance suggested.

“Kamukura-kun . . .”

“Yes?”

“I won?”

“Yes.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

He did not provide the answer she was looking for. Naturally, she would assume he had let her win, he who had won every game up to this point. She did not need to know the truth: that he had, and hadn’t. He was the Ultimate Gamer, but for that short hour, he hadn’t been the Ultimate Analyst, or the Ultimate Psychologist, or any of those miscellaneous talents. He’d only been a Gamer, and it had been fair. And though he had lost this time, he knew next time might not be the case.

And that was interesting.

* * *

“What makes you happy?” Nanami asked.

“Nothing.”

She hesitated and rearranged her question. “What do you like?”

“Things that are interesting.”

“What do you find interesting?

“Nothing really.”

She looked up at him. The tree’s shade cut her body in half around the waist. When she shifted, the pale skin of her hand found its way into the sunlight, and seemed to glow.

“You don’t seem very happy,” she said.

“I don’t feel happiness. I don’t feel emotion.”

“Your life sounds very sad,” Nanami said, “I think. Hinata-kun was much happier.”

“It isn’t sad. I do not get ‘sad,’ ” he repeated.

“Do you miss being able to get sad?” she asked.

He shrugged. It wasn’t often, but sometimes Nanami would think of a worthwhile question. “I don’t have memories of those days. My first memory is waking up as Kamukura.”

“. . . Kamukura-kun, what did they do to you?”

* * *

Finding the answer to Nanami’s question was easy. Given the differences between the old one and himself, he could put together a theory. His theory had proof in the scars buried under his hair, in the needle marks hidden on his arms. He didn’t need documents or videos to prove his theory. The same couldn’t be said for most. Most would demand he present them with tangible proof, but Nanami was not one of them. She was beginning to grasp the limitless extent of his talent and even if she hadn’t, she trusted _Hinata_.

“They took your memories,” she murmured. She pulled at the string of her animal hoodie, and wrapped it around her finger. “Then. . . they’re gone forever.”

“That would be sloppy,” Kamukura said. “Due to the questionable morality of their project, if their modification of my brain had failed, their sponsors would have withdrawn. They would not have the funds to begin anew. I would be their one and only attempt. Hence, they would have desired a way to preserve his memories in case something went wrong and they needed to return to a previous state.”

“They made a back-up. Like. . . saving before a final boss. I think.”

He nodded. “Yes, that is correct.”

“They have your memories locked up somewhere. We should look for them.”

He didn’t answer.

* * *

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Nanami blinked innocently. She looked smaller than usual when seen against the cold, white walls. He wondered if she was aware of how her steps echoed throughout the bare halls. Had it not been one o’clock in the morning, she would have brought down the Steering Committee’s wrath for trespassing in such a confidential area. As it was, she had already attracted the attention of a few security guards, but he had taken care of them on his way here.

Kamukura stepped forward. “How did you discover . . .? Fujisaki Chihiro helped program some of the machines down here.”

She looked away. “Fujisaki-kun knows a lot of things.”

She continued walking, knowing that if he wanted to stop her, she couldn’t prevent that.

He didn’t. He followed behind her, steps in tune with hers.

She said, “We should find your memories.”

“Why?” he asked. “That doesn’t seem necessary.”

“It doesn’t interest you?” she asked. “Don’t you wonder what it was like to feel emotion?”

That was another worthwhile question. It could be interesting. Perhaps he would finally be able to explain once and for all why Hinata was inferior.

“This way,” he said.

He led her to the room that he long ago deduced was the site of his mental modifications. Nanami looked at the long, clear pod with apprehension. She moved her hand across the glass, as if by wiping it clean, she would see _Hinata_ underneath.

“I’ll need to adjust some settings,” he said, walking over to a computer panel that took up an entire wall. Apart from that, a one-way pane of glass shielding an observation room, and the glass pod, there was nothing else in this room. It would be intimidating to her, given how large the room was to begin with.

He opened the pod and laid down inside it. He attached some electrodes and wires to himself, then directed Nanami to attach those he could not reach. She followed directions well; something expected from the Ultimate Gamer.

“Strap me down.”

Nanami hesitated. “We don’t need to do that, I think.”

“It’s possible I may lash out during the procedure,” he said. “It would risk detaching the electrodes.”

Nanami swallowed hard. On her tiptoes, she reached over him and pulled the straps across his body. One by one, they tightened around him.

“Close the pod. Hit the green button in the center of the panel.”

They could no longer hear each other once the pod’s cover was closed. He tracked her with his eyes. She looked back at him, and met his gaze even as she pressed the button.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

 

(Kamukura sleeps.)

( ~~Kamukura~~ Hinata awakes.)

* * *

“Hey, hey! Hinata-kun!”

He stopped walking and closed his eyes. “Nanami-san, you can’t call me that . . .”

“Look!” She thrust a video game box at his chest. “It just came in!”

“That’s the sequel to my favourite game,” he said.

She frowned. “You don’t sound excited.”

He sighed, but it was a reflexive motion, not an emotional one. “I can’t get excited. You know that.”

“No!” She jerked the game away and cradled it close, as if he had threatened to burn it. “But you remember you’re Hinata-kun now, don’t you?”

“Come here.”

He bent his head, and parted the hair above the left half of his forehead. He could feel the exposed scar on his fingertips, and it was reflected in her eyes.

He straightened up and let his hair shift back into place. “To make me into Kamukura, I went through major brain surgery. My brain isn’t the same as when you first knew me. _I’m_ not the same as when you first knew me.”

“You’re not Kamukura-kun. . .”

“I’m not Hinata either,” he said. “And you know you can’t use that name in public. If the Steering Council realizes who I really am, they’ll try to make me into Kamukura again and dealing with them would be . . . It would be really annoying.”

“So, you’re going to let them force you into being Kamukura?”

“Only if I want,” he said flippantly. He almost left it there, but then remembered Nanami was no longer more talented than him and required an explanation. “I just need to make them comfortable enough that they’re okay with showing me on public television. Then I could introduce myself – or correct them – as Hinata, and there’s nothing they could do to change that.”

“Is that what you’re planning? Are you going to tell everyone you’re Hinata?”

“I don’t really care what they call me,” he said. She deserved his honesty, even if it wasn’t the answers she wanted to hear. “If it matters to you, I’ll tell them I’m Hinata.”

“. . . Okay.”

* * *

 

“Maybe it’s me.”

“It’s not,” he said.

Nanami at least had the sense to wait until the crowd passed their bench before explaining what he knew she wanted to say. “It might be me. I’m not very good at dating sims, or dealing with people . . . Maybe you still don’t feel anything because I’m not very good at triggering friendship flags.”

“It’s not you,” he said, quickly growing bored with the conversation. “Brain damage is often permanent.”

“You’re not damaged!” she snapped and honestly, why was she getting so worked up over this? The answer was staring her in the face. “You just need to practice with somebody else.”

“My parents and old friends are not an option,” he said instantly. “The Steering Committee would grow suspicious.”

“So, it has to be someone they would expect you to interact with. Someone from our class. What about Yuki –”

“She’s a spy,” Kamukura said. “Dealing with that would be annoying. Nanami-san, there is nobody else. Nobody in your class would want to . . .”

Naturally, it came to him a second before she thought of it.

“He seems _very_ annoying.”

“He’s not so bad once you get used to him. You just have to learn when to tell him to shut up,” she said helpfully. “He’s over there.”

And he was. The Ultimate Lucky Student was alone nearby, on his knees as he threw himself at the feet of the statue of the school’s founder.

“. . . _Very_ annoying,” Kamukura echoed.

“He’ll be happy to be your friend,” Nanami said.

He sighed. “You know there’s no point to this. It would be a waste of time. . .”

* * *

 

“Let’s try this one next!”

Nanami pulled him along. Komaeda padded after them like a puppy.

“Wait!” Nanami said, pulling Kamukura back and away from the TV cameras pointed at the path they were about to cross.

“Ah, don’t worry!” Komaeda said. “With two Ultimate Lucky Students present, the only time they’ll catch us on camera is when nobody related to the Steering Committee is watching!”

Sure enough, just as he and Komaeda knew it would, a commotion rose at that very instant. The TV camera swung around and focused on a fairgame stall where the tent-like roof had fallen in. A small brown-haired boy blushed furiously as he stammered out apologies. Kamukura analysed the scene quickly. The girl next to the boy was related and younger. The older brother had taken her to the fair and as a responsible older brother, had tried to win her a prize at this stall. However, when throwing the ball, he had managed to bring the roof down by . . . by . . . **_b_** _y **-**_

“Let’s go!” Nanami insisted. She yanked him hard, and broke him out of the black hole his mind had fallen into.

Nanami, unsurprisingly, liked shooting games. She twice made them go through the small coaster where you fired laser guns at targets. She also had an understandable fondness for bumper cars, although she sadly remarked afterwards that it wasn’t anything close to Grand Theft Auto. Komaeda, on the other hand, claimed that “anything you Ultimates like is already too good for me!” But even as he tagged along with a smile, he had a clear anxiety about anything that combined heights and speed.

“Komaeda-kun, you should choose next,” Nanami said.

“Me?” Komaeda repeated, incredulous. “Don’t be ridiculous. Someone like me would choose a ride that was as lame as he was. You two wouldn’t have any fun . . .”

Nanami stared at Kamukura.

Kamukura glanced at Komaeda. “Shut up and choose a ride.”

“Well, if you both insist, I can’t possibly refuse . . .”

With that, Komaeda closed his eyes and began spinning in a circle with his arm held out.

“I choose . . . that one!”

Komaeda opened his eyes.

They were silent.

“. . . I see our luck is evening itself out,” Kamukura said.

“Tunnel of Love,” Nanami read. “I’ve seen those in my dating sims.”

“I thought you said you weren’t very good at those,” Komaeda said.

“I did. I found out by trying to play them . . .”

Komaeda, cheeks growing red, held his hands up. “Please don’t take what I said the wrong way! I’m not questioning your talent. I’m sure what you consider to be ‘not very good’ is miles above what the rest of us could accomplish!”

“Maybe,” Nanami said. She waddled away from them, leaving them to follow her.

“You’re going to go through the tunnel,” Kamukura said with a sigh.

“Komaeda-kun chose it.”

Her mind was made up. That was boring. The other rides were boring too, but this one was especially boring because none of them would get anything useful out of it.

( _Perhaps, months ago, Hinata would have thought differently_.)

They reached the boarding site. Kamukura held Nanami steady by the arm as she stepped over the river into the swan-shaped boat. Komaeda vibrated next to him, ecstatic at the thought of getting to make skin contact with the Ultimate Hope –

Kamukura grabbed his shirt and threw him into the boat instead.

“Have fun.”

“Eh? You’re not coming?” Komaeda said, still sprawled on the boat’s floor. “I know it’s usually two people per boat, but Nanami-san’s small. I could always be your footrest!”

“I have no use for this ride,” Kamukura said. “It looks boring.”

“But we came to the amusement park together. You have to go on all the rides with us.” Nanami puffed her cheeks out.

“Yeah, Kamukura-kun!” Komaeda puffed his cheeks. . . _ugh_.

They would bother him all day if he refused, so he climbed inside. Nanami took the spot in the center, stone-faced as she stared ahead. The ride attendant scratched his head as he watched the strange trio, and then pulled the lever.

They sailed into the tunnel.

“It’s quite dark in here,” Komaeda remarked.

“I’ve never seen the inside of a love tunnel before,” Nanami said. “They always skipped the cutscene after you entered.”

Komaeda cocked his head. “I must, say I was expecting more. The red lights are nice, but there’s not a whole lot else in here. I’m feeling a little claustrophobic.”

“I told you it was boring,” Kamukura said.

“And I warned you that I would choose something lame,” Komaeda said. “What terrible luck. A chance to prove myself to two Ultimates and I –”

“You two thought the Ferris wheel was boring,” Nanami said. “I chose that one.”

“I never-”

“You were yawning.”

Komaeda was silent.

It got darker the further they went in. It was to build up the romantic atmosphere . . . analysing this was boring. Even someone as dull-minded as the Gymnast would understand why the lights were dimming. Though if the owners really wanted to create a romantic setting, they should spend time fishing trash out of the water.

“. . . I’m glad you two came with me,” Nanami said. “I’ve never been to an amusement park with friends.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Komaeda said. “You must have been so busy when you were younger; I can only imagine how much time you spend honing your talent to became the spectacular being you are today!”

“That’s not why. I just didn’t have friends.”

Komaeda coughed.

“I have a class of friends now,” Nanami said. “It’s nice.”

They were almost in complete darkness. Their eyes glowed with the last of the red light and as the blackness consumed them, Kamukura saw Komaeda turn to face him.

“What about you, Kamukura-kun? How many friends do you have?”

The angle was obvious. He knew it. Komaeda obviously expected him to know it.

“You tell me,” he said.

“. . . Ah, I suppose it’s one then,” Komaeda said quietly. “That’s what I suspected.”

In the quiet that followed, Kamukura felt Nanami’s weight lean against him. He took a deep breath. He could clearly imagine the face she was giving him: those puffed out cheeks and pouty frown. She wouldn’t be pleased.

“. . . Are you so sure about that?” he asked Komaeda. “That I only have one friend?”

Komaeda quickly aborted his first attempt to speak, and then tried again. “I . . . How many would you say?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Maybe two.”

“Ah.”

Nanami was still leaning against him. That must have satisfied her, so whatever she was doing, it wasn’t meant to pressure him. And there was no emotion in his next action, nothing at all because he didn’t have emotions, but his pinky twitched and brushed against hers. He moved his hand over so they were touching. There was no response from her and that was unusual –

That’s when he realized she was snoring.

* * *

With one hand, Kamukura lifted the metre-tall boulder. With his foot, he scooped out dirt until a black box was exposed. Still casually holding up the big boulder with one hand, he leaned down and grabbed the box. He released the boulder afterwards, and it fell with a large thump.

“What’s that?” Komaeda asked.

“Storage. The Steering Committee would not take kindly to any evidence that I am spending this much time having ‘fun,’ ” he said. “A little’s okay because they believe I’m pretending and manipulating the class, but this is too much.”

Nanami, of course, only latched onto one part of that. “You did have fun! I think?”

“Ah, so you hide your mementos so they aren’t any wiser. Brilliant! Nothing less than what I expected from the Ultimate Hope!”

Kamukura didn’t answer them. He glanced at the newest object that would be added: a photograph of the three of them right after the boat entered the tunnel. Nanami looked oddly serious, as she had been bracing herself for the exploration of a ‘new level.’ Komaeda wasn’t even looking at the camera, and appeared to be checking out the tunnel. And he was sitting there, stone-faced and looking straight ahead.

He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once thought Kamukura's backstory would be a single chapter long (it's not). I have no idea how I came to that conclusion.


	101. (Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a despairful chapter, but NagitoHajimeChiakiFan convinced me to delay it by one. Instead, you get one focusing on Kamukamu's relationship with his class!

The teacup clinked as it was set down. “Perhaps I have misjudged you, Kamukura-kun. I hope you can forgive me. Although it is always wise to listen to one’s advisors, I should not allow them to cloud my thoughts so easily.”

In royal speak, it was an apology. Kamukura didn’t really care.

“It’s fine, your highness,” he said, only adding the last part because Nanami and Komaeda would pout at him all day if they discovered he hadn’t.

Nevermind smiled at him. It was a guarded, twitchy thing; a face painted on a mask. “I am glad you understand.”

Overall, the meeting went well. Nevermind hadn’t been looking for conflict, after all; she was merely drawn in by the political intrigue, the irresistible desire to size him up as a potential threat or ally. He was neither to her, and that he knew that troubled her more the other two options would.

Nanami, playing video games right outside the Princess’s room, looked up when he walked out.

. . . Perhaps he had no interest in being an ally to Nevermind personally, but he supposed he counted as an ally of Nanami and thus, to the Princess by extension.

“How did it go?” she asked as she walked beside him.

“Fine.”

Her eyes lit up. “Are you two friends now?”

“No.”

She frowned and put her finger on her chin. “But you just had a cutscene together. I guess one of you chose the wrong dialogue option.”

“I wouldn’t have chosen incorrectly.”

“I’m not sure about that,” she said. “You’re not very good at making friends.”

He stopped to glare at her. “I am . . . I could be if I wanted to.”

She stared at him.

“I’m the Ultimate Actor,” he tried.

Her head tilted to one side. “That’s not helping, Kamukura-kun.”

“I don’t need more friends,” Kamukura said as he followed her. “I have friends. I don’t need more.”

“I think having someone like Nevermind-san as a friend would be good for you,” Nanami said. “Because I’m not very good at talking to people and Komaeda-kun is . . .”

At that moment, a voice rose in the distance.

“Ishimaru-kun! That I would rate high enough in your mind for you to register my tardiness . . . It’s a blessing. Such generosity! And now look at you: taking time away from your precious, precious duties to listen to my rambling. The charity of you Ultimates truly knows no bounds –”

“. . . He’s Komaeda-kun,” Nanami finished.

“He’s trying to get out of detention again,” Kamukura observed.

“Yep.”

“Hey! You harassing my brother again?” the Ultimate Biker bellowed as he stomped towards the two, sleeves pushed up.

“I think we should step in,” Nanami said.

Kamukura shrugged.

* * *

“The fire department’s here again,” Nanami observed.

In the middle of unpacking his lunch, Kamukura said, “Naegi Makoto attempted to use the photocopier.”

Nanami winced. Komaeda chewed slowly, watching the two closely.

“I thought Soda-kun installed anti-fire systems after last time,” Nanami said.

“He did,” Kamukura said. “I examined the rubble. One was installed incorrectly.”

They stared at him.

“Kamukura-kun, please believe me when I say I _hate_ backtalking you, but I think you misheard.” Komaeda said. True to his word, his face was bright red and he hurriedly lifted a glass of ice water to his lips. “Nanami-san said _Soda-kun_ installed those systems.”

Kamukura picked up his chopsticks. “I heard correctly.”

They stared at him.

“I didn’t know Soda-kun could install things incorrectly,” Nanami said. “He must have rolled a one.”

Komaeda nearly spat out his drink. “A _one?_ ”

“Like in tabletop RPGs,” Nanami said helpfully.

“I know, but . . . A _one_? Nanami-san, I know gaming is your domain and I don’t have the right to ever disagree with you on –”

Kamukura hit him over the back of his head. “Get on with it.”

Komaeda cleared his throat and pulled at his collar. “This is real life. Ultimates don’t roll ones in _real life_. They roll nineteen, or twenty. Twenty! Always twenties!”

“Then why did Soda-kun install it wrong?”

“. . . Well, I suppose else rolled a twenty. Like Nevermind-san!” Komaeda declared, eyes alight with feverish glee. “She rolled a twenty for distraction, and that stopped Soda-kun from his achieving his usual perfection.”

Kamukura swallowed a mouthful of food, then started to bring up another to his lips as he calmly said, “I said _one_ was incorrectly installed. Not all.”

They stared at him.

“. . . Forgive me, I know I’m an idiotic piece of trash, but if some of them were installed correctly, how did the fire start?” Komaeda asked.

Kamukura stilled. Komaeda took a bite of his own food.

“. . . I’m not sure,” Kamukura said.

Komaeda promptly began choking. Kamukura glared at him.

“We should help him. I think,” Nanami said as Komaeda continued coughing.

“Eventually,” Kamukura said, still glaring at him.

His intervention turned out to be unnecessary. With a teary wail like an ambulance, Tsumiki ran over. She slammed her fists hard into Komaeda’s stomach, causing the bit he was choking on to pop out. Then she took off, screaming she was sorry for hitting him.

“A drive-by life-saving by the Ultimate Nurse. . . What a day.” Komaeda sighed fondly and shook his head. “What a wonderful day.”

(Meanwhile, Hanamura was pretending he was choking and required CPR.)

Kamukura stared over Nanami’s dropping head at the table behind her, where red-faced Naegi Makoto was the subject of his classmate’s laughter. Kamukura muttered, “How did he do it? . . . Interesting.”

 _Clink_.

He quickly moved his sleeve away from the spreading puddle.

“Sorry! I’m so clumsy,” Komaeda said, trying to mop up the puddle from his spilt glass with his napkin. “You know what we ordinary people are like. Can’t tell their knee from their elbow.”

Kamukura picked up a dozing Nanami’s head by her hoodie, and pulled her away from the water. “Your jealousy bores me.”

Komaeda’s smile flickered as he was torn between the instinct to deny the accusation, or to agree and lick the Ultimate Hope’s boots.

“Don’t be boring,” Kamukura advised helpfully.

* * *

“Hey, hey! Kamukura-kun!”

“Nanami-san,” he greeted. He didn’t look away from his work and picked up a wrench.

Nanami silently drank in what he was building. “Kamukura-kun, you shouldn’t be doing that.”

Kamukura shrugged.

“Kamukura-kun, you’re not allowed to build death traps in school,” she said more firmly. “And I promised Kirigiri-san you wouldn’t experiment on her classmates.”

“She can’t hold you accountable. You’re not responsible for me,” he said.

He looked up. Nanami was pouting.

“It’s only a couple of tests,” he said. “I want to see how his luck reacts.”

She pouted harder.

He sighed and set the wrench down.

“Kamukura-kun . . .”

“Why are you bothering me?” he said sharply.

She blinked. Hesitated. “I wanted . . .”

“I know what you want,” he said. “It sounds boring.”

She hesitated a bit more. Then her eyes glazed over as she understood.

“But you never do anything with us,” she whined. “I . . .”

Someone cleared their throat.

The Chairman of the Steering Committee approached them. “Nanami-san! How nice to see you. Unfortunately, I must ask you to leave Kamukura-kun alone. He has very important work to do.”

“Oh. Okay.” Nanami walked past the Chairman and away. Once the Chairman could no longer see her, she glanced over her shoulder and waved goodbye.

“I’m sorry about that,” the Chairman said afterwards, after checking they were alone. “I can only imagine how annoying it is to have them pestering you all the time.”

Kamukura shrugged and continued dismantling his creation.

“Just remember though. . .” The Chairman stepped closer. “They’re only Ultimates. You are _Hope_. If ever one of them should become so annoying that it troubles you, you only need to tell us. We’ll figure something out so you’re comfortable again.”

Kamukura focused on unscrewing a bolt.

“Yes. Well. . . I’ll let you return to your work. Just remember if you need anything at all, I’m waiting.”

How boring

* * *

“It’s strange, isn’t it? To think how big the universe is.”

Nanami said that as she stared up at the night sky. Clouds roamed, but the moon itself was clear, caught in the middle of them like the eye of a hurricane. A few nearby stars also shone though, but otherwise the clouds cloaked them; that, or the leaves of the tree they leaned against.

“It’s not strange if you think about it,” Kamukura said. “The facts are quite easy to put in order . . .”

He launched into a helpful description of the vast distances in space, followed by the patterns of stars and galaxies, and the constellations that they made. He explained the universe’s expansion and its birth, and its eventual death eons from now. He spoke of the earth and its place, and theirs upon it.

“Do you understand better now?” he asked. He turned –

Nanami snored.

Kamukura stared.

“. . . Was I being boring?” he asked aloud.

The cold was coming in. So were the bugs. He could kill them all before they got bitten of course, but that would be boring. He picked up Nanami, and took her back inside.

Normally, when Nanami dozed off like that, she woke easily. However, this time she remained sleep even after he reached her room. She must have been truly asleep then. He tucked her in and left her there. He walked out of her room.

“. . . The hell you doing in there?”

Kamukura glanced at the young heir to the yakuza. “She’s sleeping.”

“And you just walk in there?” Kuzuryu snapped. Behind him, Pekoyama put a hand on her sword. “What kind of creep are -?”

“She’s _sleeping_ ,” he repeated, irritated.

Kuzuryu’s voice rose. “And I’m asking what the hell  -?”

He sprung forward and grabbed the Yakuza by the neck. At the same time, his other arm swung out and intercepted the Swordswoman before she could draw her weapon. He whacked her hard against the chest, sending her flying a safe distance away. He turned back to the wide-eyed yakuza.

“Keep it down. She’s sleeping.”

“You’re fucking nuts,” Kuzuryu spat, but quietly. “Fucking crazy!”

He seemed to get the point, so Kamukura released him. Pekoyama quickly picked her master off the floor, and the two of them scampered off. Kamukura started to walk.

He paused.

He opened Nanami’s door and made sure she was still sleeping.

* * *

“He’s a fucking lunatic, that’s what he is!” Kuzuryu said. Kamukura could picture him frothing at the mouth. “We can’t trust him.”

Outside the classroom, Kamukura tilted his head to hear better. A normal person would be unable to untangle all those whispers inside the room, but he was not normal. He knew what they all were saying.

“He is rough around the edges, but I don’t think we need to discard him completely,” Nevermind said.

“You kidding me?” Soda said, and Kamukura could hear him puffing up with jealously. “The guy’s a freak! You’ve seen him. He sits there in the back of the class and just stares . . . Who does that?”

“Now, now, everyone.” Komaeda’s slow footsteps echoed in the classroom. “I understand. I understand way more than you think. Understanding there’s someone better out there, that there’s an entire tier of people above you, it’s always hard to grasp at first. I can only imagine how hard it must be for Ultimates like you. All your life you’ve been the cream of the crop, the greatest the world had to offer! None of you ever saw Kamukura-kun coming. But no fear! I can teach you all how to –”

“Komaeda, shut up!”

Their subject turned from him to lambasting Komaeda. Kamukura stood outside the classroom, silent.

“. . . You shouldn’t listen to them,” Nanami said, having approached him from behind.

“Is that so?”

She gently entangled her hand with his, and tugged him away from the classroom.

“They don’t know you. That’s why they say those things,” she said. “It’ll be different once they’re your friends.”

“I don’t think it would be.”

“Kamukura-kun . . .”

He shook it off. “It doesn’t matter. What they say makes no difference.”

She looked up at him. “It’s okay to admit that it bothers you. It should bother you, I think. You’re . . . different, but that doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with you. I think I have to talk to everyone.”

“You don’t. I don’t need you to.” He reached out and quickly grabbed Nanami’s shoulder to stop her from walking into someone.

“No . . . but I want to.” She pulled her hood up, as if to shield herself from the truth of what she said next. “A lot of them didn’t really have friends when they were younger because they were ‘different,’ too. They should know better.”

“This isn’t a side quest,” he said.

“You might not think so,” she said, “but I’ve already accepted it.”

* * *

“Kamukura-kun!” Komaeda’s shoes pounded against the ground as he approached. “I’m hearing rumours that you were constructing death traps. I want you to know that I would be _honoured_ to be your test subject. To give my blood in a violent experiment to further the knowledge of the Ultimate Hope . . . What else could I wish for?”

“That wouldn’t be interesting. I already know how your luck would interact with them,” Kamukura said. “Nanami-san will be upset if I experimented on you.”

Komaeda only latched onto one part. “Not me. It’s for _him_ , then.”

“It was,” Kamukura said. “She’d be upset if I followed through.”

Komaeda’s jaw jumped. “Well, I’m glad you’re unoccupied, either way. I found two tickets to the movies on the ground. Interested?”

Kamukura glanced at the movie title. His mind instantly brought up the trailer and synopsis and he analysed it from there, fitting scenes into the tapestry Hollywood had long since adopted.

“Looks boring,” he said. “I know how it ends. Go ask Nanami-san.”

“Nanami-san in a dark theatre? She always falls asleep in the first five minutes,” Komaeda said. “I might as well go alone.”

“Then ask someone else,” he said.

“There isn’t anyone else who . . .” Komaeda trailed off. “Ah, never mind. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Kamukura glanced over his shoulder as Komaeda walked off.

“Komaeda-kun?”

Komaeda paused.

“. . . I need to return the parts of my death trap to their proper location. Would you like to help me?”

Komaeda’s entire face lit up.

* * *

“You still seem don’t seem happy, Kamukura-kun.”

“It’s brain damage,” he repeated. Shame. He hadn’t had to remind her of that for two days – a record.

“Maybe we didn’t go back far enough,” she said. “If they saved before all the boss battles, then there’s earlier versions of you around, I think.”

“They won’t make a difference,” he said.

“We can try.”

He shook his head. “It’s not worth the risk. As the Ultimate Neurologist, I am telling you that it’s pointless.”

“You keep saying things like that!” Nanami said, angry. “It worked once. Why wouldn’t it work again?”

“The situation’s different,” he said. “I merely _remembered_. I didn’t regain anything. I still can’t feel –”

“Stop saying that!” she demanded. “You don’t feel because you keep thinking you can’t. You could if you really tried.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean with the power of friendship? Nanami-san, this isn’t one of your video games. There is no power of heart. There are no event flags or routes you can complete with me. There are real physiological and biological limitations in place.”

“You always use that as an excuse.”

She refused to back down. She would not admit that her suggestion carried more risk than reward. And it did. The Council was paranoid. The minute changes in him they had already observed had set them on edge, even as their scientists insisted they were expected consequences of him interacting with others. It was too risky and the reward scarcely worth the effort.

But Nanami would not understand this. Kamukura knew she was locked in her own past, in her fantasies of what could have been.

Their fight only ended when Kuzuryu and Pekoyama approached. Though Kuzuryu had the civility to ask them both what was wrong, his sword – his aggression – was directed towards Kamukura alone.

“It’s nothing,” Kamukura said. “There’s no need to worry about it.”


	102. (Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the tenses are really messed up in this one.

The call came at twilight, on the special landline dedicated for him to speak to the researchers. Kamukura watched the ringing phone. Why would they disturb him at this hour? Neither of them liked to lose sleep.

This bode ill. He picked up the phone, and listened to what they had to say.

He hung up afterwards and left his room without a word, pointing his feet towards the laboratory where they had created it. Hope’s Peak was asleep, save for a few roaming security guards. However, they weren’t going to question the intentions of an Ultimate, let alone one like himself. He left the main campus without incident and travelled the path he knew all too well. He opened the door to the laboratory and stepped inside to face the Steering Committee.

“Hello, Izuru,” the Chairman of the Steering Committee said.

He cut to the chase. “Where is she?”

He didn’t need the Chairman’s answer. He heard them move the second he spoke. He turned his head, and there she was: Nanami, face pale, pulling at the arm around her throat. Behind her stood one of the Chairman’s dogs. Normally, the guard would be beneath his notice, but this one had a gun pressed to Nanami’s temple.

“You tried to find an earlier copy,” Kamukura said to Nanami sadly. “I told you not to.”

Before Nanami could speak, the Chairman did. “Care to explain to _me_ what this one is doing here?”

Kamukura observed his body language. “You already know the answer.”

The Chairman nodded jerkily, head bobbing on his neck. “Yes. Yes, as expected from the great Kamukura. Now, you are going to get back in the pod. We are going to take care of this . . . unexpected issue. Ah, I should have seen this coming. Making perfect Hope couldn’t be that easy.”

“Hinata-kun!” Nanami’s last syllable was choked-off by the arm tightening around her throat. Kamukura spun around at the sound and quickly analyze the scene. The gun still had its safety up, but the guard had a finger on it and the trigger. A small sheen of sweat coated the guard’s brow – she knew of his reputation, and feared it. That raised the risk factor of her reacting adversely if he moved suddenly. Given her training, she would go for the gun and if her muscles tensed from fear–

Risk factor to Nanami Chiaki of about fourteen percent. Too high.

“Climb into the pod, Kamukura Izuru.”

The arm was tight around Nanami’s throat, trying to keep her silent. Her words were coming out as whimpers, but he understood them.

“Nanami-san, it’s okay,” he said. “You’ll get through this. It must be this way.”

Panic laced Nanami’s breathing. She didn’t understand his attempt at silent communication. And there was much he had to say. He would have explained that resisting put her in danger, but he worried someone in the room would take that as a threat. She would have countered that he was in danger, of course, but he would have told her that wasn’t important and any damage done to him wouldn’t be permanent; Hope’s Peak would not risk killing their Ultimate Hope.

And naturally, he couldn’t tell her that her fear was unwarranted because he had returned and sabotaged these machines a while ago. Just in case something like this occurred. He would sleep, and he would wake up as himself. They wouldn’t be any wiser; there was no test they could invent that he could not circumvent. This would just be another annoying, time-consuming obstacle.

Laying in the pad, he stared dully at the ceiling as the straps tightened around him. The rat-faced Chairman hovered nearby, hands twisting and wringing together, as if ants marched upon them.

“After we’re finished with him, strap her in,” the Chairman said. “There will be no repeat incident. Hinata Hajime must be destroyed.”

“Wh-what?” Nanami’s pupils were wide.

“Your memories were the catalyst. They must be eliminated.” The Chairman turned away from her. “It’s unfortunate, but Hope must be saved. Your sacrifice will be well spent.”

Against the backdrop of Nanami’s cries, Kamukura frowned. These circumstances may require a bit more thought . . . No. They were merely erasing a period of time in his mind. Nanami’s memory erasure (which wouldn’t work) was more complex. That meant he would awaken first and so, he would bear the brunt of the questioning. Nanami was clever. She would keep her unaltered memories a secret and the Committee, gleeful over their assumed victory over him, wouldn’t spend enough time with her. She’d come to him afterwards in class during unsuspicious circumstances, say something with a certain answer that only Hinata would know, and he would answer correctly. Then, only they had to keep their heads down the public announcement –

“ _Hajime!_ ”

Several talents woke at once. The Ultimate Soldier. Hunter. Sniper. Each whispered wisdom into his ear.

Every firearm is loaded.

Never put a finger near the trigger unless you are ready to fire.

Never point a gun at something you are not ready to destroy.

 _Never surprise a person with a gun_.

It was that last law that echoed in his mind as the world slowed. Nanami, overtaken by adrenaline, found the leverage to elbow the guard in the gut as Kamukura felt the last strap tightened around him. Nanami twisted around in the now-loose grip and went for the –

 _Bang_.

It was so, so quiet.

“Nanami?”

“S-sir. Sir, I –”

“Nanami? _Nanami!”_

“Shit! Where’s the first aid kit? Why are you all standing there?”

First aid wasn’t enough. Nanami had tipped the gun down before it fired, and the bullet had entered just above her hip. The blood splatter patterns indicated the bullet exited the lower thigh. Structures in the way would include the pelvis, possibly the tibia and fibula. Abdominal organs were at risk from bone shards. Rate of blood loss pointed to a femoral artery breach.

Chance of survival without immediate treatment: twenty percent.

“ _Nanami!”_

The Ultimate Weightlifter and the Ultimate Martial Artist seeped into his body. The leather straps groaned and stretched, but the creators meant the design for him, and even a talented human’s body had physical limits. Kamukura froze from shock when he realized he had just tried something and _he had failed_.

“Where are they?” someone shouted. “Get the bandages!”

His eyes snapped over. That wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to simply wrap the leg. The femoral artery was breached, and blood would hemorrhage in the soft tissue. The primary problem wasn’t what they could see. It was the internal bleeding, for when the hipbone shattered it would have sliced through vessels nearby and many important ones were in that area. . .

Eighteen percent.

“Hey! _Hey!_ ” he shouted at them. “I’m a doctor. I can save her!”

Seventeen percent.

Nanami hadn’t made a sound since the gun went off. Her finger spread, motion sluggish from shock, and she touched the part of her that was bleeding. Blood coated her fingers when she removed them, and he could see more pooling on the floor beneath her.

Fifteen.

“Untie me!” he demanded. “I know how to save her!”

A couple of them looked at him uncertainly and – goddamn it! – this wasn’t a decision that required an Ultimate’s brain to make!

“No,” the Chairman said. “It’s not –”

“ _Untie me!_ ”

The Chairman squeaked. “It’s a trap. Kamukura doesn’t care about her. He’s trying to lure us into a trap! He’s probably planning to kill us.”

Kamukura hissed. But it was true, wasn’t it? Kamukura couldn’t feel emotion. Kamukura couldn’t feel sadness.

( _Then why did he keep screaming?_ )

Eleven.

“Sir, we need to call an ambulance. We need a real hospital!”

“I have all the talents of a hospital staff!” Kamukura shouted. “Let me out!”

The Chairman twitchily looked from him to Nanami. “We can’t call a hospital! An Ultimate being shot at this time and _us_ bringing her in? The police would get involved. What would we tell the press?”

Ten percent.

“Then how should we proceed, sir?” a guard asked.

“. . . We can’t.”

“Sir?”

“W-we can’t call the authorities. If she talks, it’s all over. The public backlash will shut us down. It’ll all be for nothing! If we wish to save Hope, then we . . . we . . .”

Kamukura stilled in his bonds, listening for what he knew would the Chairman would say next –

“. . . Leave her.”

Eight.

(Kamukura could not feel. Kamukura did not have emotions.)

They were going to leave her. He could tell by looking at them. That . . . that was not acceptable. He could save her. She _must_ be saved. The odds were at seven percent but for him, that was enough.

Veins popped on his forearms. If he could focus his energy, break _one_ strap, victory was his. And so he tried. His face went red, his jaw clenched as he sweated for the first time in his new life.

“Sir, the subject –!”

And everyone could read the fear on the Chairman’s face as he saw what his Hope was becoming. He screeched, “Start it! Start up the pod, now!”

People rushed forward. They grabbed the pod’s cover and forced it down as the researchers at the computer panel began to work.

“ _NO!_ ”

Six percent.

The strap pinning his lower arm frayed. Not enough for him to reach down and unbuckle the others, not enough for him to reach up and tear the electrodes and wires away from his temple, but enough for him to slam the side of his fist into the pod like a hammer. It left a spider web of cracks and echoed with a boom loud enough that even Nanami twitched.

“Sedatives! Start them, now!”

Five percent.

The air hissed as pumps poured drugs into the pod. At the same time, liquid poured into the I.V. plugged into his arm. He forced his luck to flare up as he pounded his fist into the pod again. The glass broke, and fresh air poured in, delaying the inevitable. The motion also luckily dislodged the I.V. from his right arm, but there was still the left arm to worry about and he hadn’t freed that one.

(Kamukura did not have emotions. Kamukura did not feel.)

Four.

With a snap, the other strap on his upper arm gave way. That gave him enough room to start freeing his left arm. Without warning, the guards leapt on the pod to keep it down; he knew it was not because the Chairman ordered it, but because they genuinely feared what he would do if he was freed. Their bodies cover the cracks he had made and the sleeping drug began to build up within the pod again. He can feel it within his body. He can feel an uncertain talent making his body heat up, trying to burn the drug out.

“ _Start the procedure! Put him under! PUT HIM UNDER!_ ”

Three.

He slammed his elbow, and then his forehead – two of the stronger bones he has – into the pod. It left behind a dome-shaped indent with a few smears from sweat. The world was moving in slow-motion and when he raised his head, he saw Nanami looking back at him. Her lips moved slowly, forming the syllables of his name.

Two.

The drug was in his body and sapping his strength. He and Nanami were almost in sync as her strength waned, too, and her eyelids sagged.

“. . . Hajime. I’m sorry.”

One.

Zero.

Zero.

Zero.

**Zero.**

(Kamukura does not have emotions.)

**Zero.**

( ~~Kamukura cannot feel~~.)

**Zero.**

They were wrong.

**Zero.**

Kamukura screamed.

* * *

 

_If I had trusted you, if I had just told you before his moment. . ._

( ~~Kamukura~~ Hinata sleeps.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(He wakes.)

* * *

  _Why bother?_

He answers their questions dully. Dissects their intentions with a glance and sidesteps their traps.

_What’s the point?_

They’re both confident and nervous. He takes advantages of that. Feeds the confidence, scares them enough that they rush. The countdown until his release ticks faster.

_There’s nothing left._

He passes the test. That’s no surprise. They designed him to be the smartest, the strongest, the most talented being that ever was. Yet they still somehow believed they could control him.

_Nanami is dead._

In the morning, they release him. (“I don’t think you should go back to class yet. Take some time to recover,” one pretends to suggest, but it’s really an order. They’re still not certain that they’ve destroyed Hinata.) He shambles through the hall. His suit feels tight, like a collar.

 _And that means Hajime is dead, too_.

Once in his bed, he does not move. The first time he leaves his bed is when there is a knock on the door. Nevermind waits for him on the other side. Next to her, stands Tanaka. Tanaka’s center of gravity is low, and a dark aura seeps from him as he waits next to the princess. This is not a friendly visit.

“Greetings, Kamukura-kun.” Nevermind’s voice is tightly controlled. “It does not matter how it reached my ears, but I heard you were released from the hospital today.”

He waits. There is more.

“You appear well,” she says. “May I ask what ailed you?”

He doesn’t understand why, but when he hears that question and looks at her, he’s irritated. He responds coldly. “Does it matter?”

His response irritates her too, but as expected, she does not show it. Her companion is not as controlled.

“Fiend! Tell us how you bewitched the small –”

“Tanaka-kun.” Nevermind speaks calmly, but Kamukura knows she’s frustrated because Tanaka has shown part of their hand. “Forgive us. We merely wanted to check on you.”

They both know she is lying. She wanted to fish for information. He feels no motivation to call her out on the lie, however, so he doesn’t.

He reviewed the information he had received. Nevermind knew he was in ‘the hospital.’ That means the school has created a cover-up story. The Breeder had made a reference to Nanami, which meant his cover story was entangled with hers. His accusation that Kamukura had bewitched her would usually indicate that her passing had been his fault, but the Council would have never accepted a story that placed the blame on their beloved Hope. Tanaka’s words were misdirected grief and not a clue, then. Returning to the evidence, the most important was that both the Princess and the Breeder had been angry, and the Princess had taken measures to keep tabs on his recovery. That meant offense. That meant an insult. It could not have been an insult personal to them, because they were not involved in his and Nanami’s relationship. Then it must have been an insult to a friend – to Nanami – and that meant . . .

He knew. He knew the cover-up story.

But it was wrong.

It _had_ to be wrong.

He ran to Komaeda’s room. One knock was all it took. Komaeda opened the door, and beamed when he saw Kamukura there.

“Kamukura-kun! It’s so wonderful to see you. I was certain you had forgotten about a lowly piece of trash like –”

He pushed Komaeda aside, stepped into the room and closed the door.

“A-ah, sorry! You don’t want to hear my babbling. So, did you have anything in mind for today? The museum’s just opened a new exhibition on rocketry. That might be a teensy bit interesting to you –”

“Nanami-san!” he snapped. “What happened to her?”

The smile dropped from Komaeda’s face.

“I knew this was too good to be true,” Komaeda said. Calculating eyes, eyes like those of a cat watching a vicious dog, kept track of Kamukura’s every move. “I know the word of something like me means nothing, but _please_ , believe me. I wasn’t involved. I didn’t know. If I had known – if I had known what a rotten, terrible thing she was planning–”

“What terrible thing was that, Komaeda?”

Komaeda gulped. “I’d rather not say aloud –”

“ _What was it?_ ”

He shuddered. “She wanted to kill you.”

He was right.

The world stops on its axis. He knows what the story was: Nanami Chiaki, jealous and fearful of the new talent in their midst, seeks to destroy it. She sneaks into the restricted areas, to the room housing the world’s precious Hope, and attempts to destroy both it and the process used in its creation. The girl is deranged, violent, unreasonable. Hope’s Peak tries, but eventually they are left with no choice but to take down one of their own students.

 _In propaganda, the victory is in the initiative_.

They revealed his existence to the world. He knows they have. It’s the only way for their story to work. He isn’t sure how long he was out of commission, but every second was another they spent spreading their poison. A lie travels around the globe while the truth is putting on its shoes, they say, and the talents within him tell him it’s true. Their lie would have seeped into the public consciousness, multiplying like a virus. He can fix this, can’t he? Can’t he -?

The Ultimate Psychologist and Writer team up and he sees the chairman before him, speaking into the mic. “Oh, he was devastated! Couldn’t believe it. He thought she was his best friend, you know. Refused to believe what was happening even when she grabbed the gun. They were friends before the procedure, and that’s why he was blind to her. . . Hmm? Oh, no. No interviews for him. He’s simply torn up about this, you see. He’s in no state to be interviewed.”

He can fix this. He can fix this. But would they believe him? The story is already out there; the story is already so neat and their simple minds don’t understand that he truly knows _everything_. Would they want to believe him? Would they be willing believe the people who made this great talent are at fault? Would they listen to him?

Would they think Nanami’s death had been worth it _?_

He runs through scenarios in his mind.

None end the way he wants.

“Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda says slowly, “Nanami-san did something unforgivable, but I’m still your friend. I promise. I would never . . .”

Komaeda reaches for him. Touches him. On instinct, he tosses him into a wall.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarls as he storms out.

* * *

He returns to class the following week. They glare at him. All but Komaeda who straightens up and waves. Kamukura ignores him and chooses the spot furthest from all his classmates. The teacher looks at him questioningly, starts to say something, but then shakes her head and returns to her lesson.

The class passes in a blur. Komaeda peeks at him. The Lucky Student balls up a piece of paper and flicks it at his head. Kamukura swats it away.

Lunch approaches. He’s out of his seat before the bell finishes.

“Kamukura-kun!”

Komaeda’s running towards him.

“I thought . . . It’s such a terrible thing that happened, isn’t it? But we don’t need to worry about it anymore. Come on, I’ll take you out for lunch. I’m sure you already know this, but I’m the richest teen in Japan! I’ll treat you. You don’t need to think about –”

“Don’t say it, Komaeda,” he warns.

Komaeda was awfully slow on the uptake, wasn’t he? That was the only explanation Kamukura had for why Komaeda still seemed confused.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” Kamukura says in a low voice. “I don’t want you to mention her. I don’t want you to _think_ about her. Do you understand me?”

“If that’s what you want!” Komaeda says with a (strained) laugh. “Are we still on for -?”

Kamukura walks away.

She haunts his nights. Stares at him in his dreams. What’s most troubling is how he reacts. He drinks in the sight of her with a dull ache; it’s not the overwhelming grief the part of him that is Hinata expected. More like they have ripped away a piece of him and his body has yet to realize it; her presence lingers like a phantom limb.

It isn’t only his class that suspects he is responsible for her death. He notices the glances from the other students, is aware of how the Ultimate Detective’s eyes trail him and size him up.

He ignores them. Even Komaeda has backed down at this point. Nanami is a phantom, but he is a zombie.

Night comes. He slinks through the grounds. The boulder is still as easy as ever to lift; he overshoots it and sends it flipping over. The box is still there. He palms it in one hand, and opens it with the others.

Nothing.

There’s nothing inside.

Nothing but the smell of smoke.

He enters the classroom. The Yakuza sharply turns his back on him. The Photographer makes sure she is between him and the Dancer and shuffles closer to her friend. Kamukura stands in the doorway, seeing them all, and wonders why he’s bothering.

“Kamukura-kun!” Komaeda comes sidling up. “It’s a wonderful day, isn’t it?”

“You’re talking to me today,” he says. That is abnormal. Komaeda stopped bothering him not long ago and Kamukura has not encouraged him. Something has shifted. Something has changed and it’s made Komaeda think –

He knows.

“It was you,” Kamukura says. “The box, you . . .”

Komaeda laughs awkwardly. “Of course, the Ultimate Hope would figure it out so easily. Yep, it was me!”

At that confession, a layer of ice overtakes the world, freezing it in place. Komaeda’s eyes are a black hole and he’s falling –

“And things are all better now, right? You don’t need to be bothered by those dreadful memories anymore,” Komaeda says. “No need to thank me. It was my pleasure!”

~~(Kamukura cannot feel -)~~

His hands lock around Komaeda’s throat. His weight drives Komaeda to the ground and Komaeda’s eyes are smiling, _smiling_ . . . And then they are not. They are wide and scared and he squeezes harder. Someone grabs him from behind, but he does not let go. His thumbs dig into the trachea as Komaeda’s skin grows blue. People are screaming, and there are more hands on him, pulling as Komaeda’s eyes flutter closed.

They finally tear him away. The Nurse cries as she checks the Lucky Student’s pulse. The Swordswoman and the Yakuza are armed. Lightning sparks from the Coach’s eyes as the Gymnast waits beside him.

Kamukura leaves.

(Komaeda’s eyes don’t open.)


	103. (If You Prick Us, Do We Not Bleed?)

He doesn’t return to class after that. He doesn’t return to school. The Steering Committee hunts him, but try to do so without alerting the world so avoiding them is easy. He wanders the town without a purpose. It is boring. It is meaningless.

( _He wakes up in a hospital. He’s ordered to stay and recover. The man with every talent has attacked him, and they need to ~~study~~ treat whatever damage he has been left with._ )

He watches people. They bore him. He avoids those sent after him. It is boring. He wonders why he exists. He finds no reason.

( _He waits quietly in the hospital bed. Time ticks by._ )

“Hurry up, you smelly, pig-faced idiot!”

Bored, he checks out the voice. It is a member of the younger class that he has not personally met before: The Ultimate Fashionista, Enoshima Junko. She blinks and stops when she sees him, surprised, but there’s something odd about the action. It is false, forced. Like a robot wearing human skin.

“I know you . . . Kamukura-senpai!” Enoshima’s voice is playful and optimistic. But as he scans her, as he understands her, he realizes very quickly that she is something different. This is the sharpest mind he’s ever seen.

And she knows it. Her bubbly voice fades, replaced by a cool one much like his own.

( _His phone sits on the nightstand. It doesn’t ring._ )

 “You know what I am,” the Fashionista says.

Kamukura answers, “Ultimate Analyst.”

“Yes!” She stretches out the word, and then slides over. “The world’s so boring, isn’t it? You don’t need to answer that obviously; I already know. It is _so nice_ to finally meet someone who understands!”

She looks him over, performs the same scan he performed on her. Then, she sighs heavily.

“You didn’t do it. Hope’s Peak lied,” she says in a dull voice. She holds herself in a loose hug. “And here I thought I finally met someone else who loved despair as much as me.”

The next second, she’s bubbly again. “Oh, well! Back to Plan A. Mukuro, are you planning to stand there all day or help me reap beautiful, beautiful despair?”

“C-coming!” The Ultimate Soldier says, taking her wary eyes off Kamukura for the first time. She scampers up to her sister and waits for her command like a puppy.

Enoshima clears her throat. Plucks glasses out of thin air and wears them. “I have been informed that two smart people are better than one. Care to join us, Kamukura Izuru?”

( _Hospital visitors come and go, but none are for him._ )

 “What are you planning?” Kamukura asks.

Her eyes grow wide with spirals. “Why, nothing more than tearing down the most hopeful place in the entire world!”

“You intend to destroy Hope’s Peak.”

“Not like blow it up or anything,” she says. “Way too much collateral damage. I was thinking more taking down those people at the top down a notch. Making sure they can never rise again.”

“You’re talking about the Steering Committee.”

“And the other people in charge.”

Kamukura listens. Something dark rises within him. He listens and he realizes how much he wants this; how much he **hates** them.

 “Tell me more,” Kamukura orders.

( _Komaeda’s eyes begin to swirl._ )

* * *

 The Reserve course is a cesspool of despair; a thick, choking miasma that crams itself down the throat of every student. He sees it in their eyes, in their slumping walks, in the dull expressions they wear when they walk past the locked gates to the main school. These students are untalented. They are insignificant. They are cattle. Deep inside, they know this, but the school is clever. They dangle a carrot in front of their noses and occasionally, one gets to take a bite. The staff allow that ‘lucky’ student to present their work to the Grading Panel, or to the public at the Main Course’s open house. For one day, that student is royalty, that student is _special_. They return to their class basking in the glow of that day. That’s all it takes. The other students hear, they dream, and they hope fervently. Hope’s Peak maintains control.

They are clever.

He is cleverer.

The Reserve Course is a cesspool of despair. They are neglected, abused, exploited. They know this. They may not pass through those ivory gates, but information gets out. They know what the teachers tell the Ultimates about them. They don’t miss how each year, the tuition increases.

Then there are the Ultimates themselves, so innocent in their cruelty. The Reserve Course students look out the windows of their sweltering classrooms and see the Ultimates cutting class. They watch as the guards greet the Ultimates by name and hold the gates open for them. The Reserve Course knows that if they themselves were to approach, they’d be interrogated or expelled. The discrimination between the groups is not subtle.

He understands the Reserve Course. He understands everyone, but them he understands on a more intimate level. He was one of them once, and he remembers that. He remembers the inferiority and the desperate, desperate need to ascend. He remembers feeling that there is a chunk missing from your soul, the part of you that is needed most, that part that will make you _special_ . . .

( _And what a fool he was. Trading in his life for a universe of boredom, for a world where everything was already mastered and known. Where he was a god in a human body and that should have been enough, he should have been able to save her -_ )

He and Enoshima spill poison into their ears. It is dreadfully easy. The Reserve Course, bitter and vengeful no matter how hard they hide it, are willing to believe the worst of Hope’s Peak. He tells them of a devil’s promise, of a saw cutting into a skull and a bloodstain on a cold lab floor. Enoshima whispers of liars and greed. She weaves a tale of Hope’s Peak sucking the marrow from their cattle’s bones. Their words weave together in anger and injustice.

In despair.

One day, with a wild grin, Enoshima tells him, “Your class is on a fieldtrip two weeks from this Tuesday. _My_ class is going to Sayaka’s concert the same day. It’s perfect.”

Is it? How much does he really care about what they’re doing, he wonders.

Enoshima reads him and says, “If you don’t care about your class, we launch the attack this Wednesday. Leon and Monda tricked Kiyotaka into thinking that our last period class is being held at the beach.”

“. . . Tuesday,” he says.

* * *

It is noon. The Steering Committee will be eating lunch together, as they always do. They eat in the same place day after day and he knows what room that is.

And now, so does the Reserve Course.

Enoshima, skipping the class trip because she is at a ‘fashion shoot’, lurks in the shadows. He has no need to hide. Those Reserve students, even when incensed with their place in society, still look to an Ultimate to lead them. And lead he does. Right to the gates. The guards recognize him and charge.

It’s a mistake.

The guards go flying. The gates are torn open. Kamukura stands in their center, and looks back at the slavering horde.

“Go,” he says. “Take what you’re due.”

The horde moves.

He does not follow them. He watches them through the school’s windows as Enoshima approaches him, clapping.

“What a rush!” She fans herself, panting. “Kamukura Izuru, you sure know how to get a lady going.”

They watch in silence as windows break, as furniture flies and comes crashing down. Smoke curls out of some openings and drips down the walls like blood.

“They’re never going to recover from this,” Enoshima says. “It’ll be like spring cleaning: a whole new crew come September. I hope poor little Kyoko-chan doesn’t despair because her poor daddy was fired.”

She doesn’t mean it. The giggles say enough.

Enoshima’s phone rings shortly. She raises a finger to her lip as she picks up her classmate’s class.

“Hello? Huh? No, I’m fine. I got back like twenty minutes after it started and I’m standing here watching and . . . it’s _terrible_. There’s things being thrown out windows and fires, and I am so glad I’m not . . . What?”

The last word is different. Her classmate wouldn’t notice but he – the Ultimate Actor, Ultimate Psychologist, Ultimate Analyst – hears a dropping of character. She hangs up quickly and he knows what she’s going to say.

“ _Fuck!_ What the _fuck_?” She speaks as if furious, but the next second she’s perfectly calm. “I’ll see you later. Got something I need to talk care of.”

She leaves. He turns back and watches Hope’s Peak burn. He watches the Tragedy unfold.

* * *

He finds her on the roof of a neighbouring building, watching the chaos through binoculars. There’s something else, too: a sleeping bag shoved off to the side with someone inside.

“He’s sick,” Enoshima sighs. “Started puking so much that Byakuya called his chauffer to bring him home. Don’t worry; I drugged the shit out of him!”

Indeed, Naegi Makoto looks pale. Kamukura ponders the Lucky Student’s luck again.

“It’s a good thing they called me when they did,” Enoshima says. “His door was broken down and they’d dragged him out of bed. Got a few kicks in before I got there. He’s just lucky none of those idiots were wearing steel-toed boots.”

She wanders over to the sleeping bag, as if to add a kick of her own. He honestly doesn’t know if she’s going to kick him or not. They’re unpredictable, the two of them.

“Every single week . . . He’s the absolute worst, you know,” Enoshima says. “They all are. They just _love_ almost getting themselves killed and ruining my plans! If it isn’t him, it’s Mondo, or Leon doing some stupid shit. . . even our strong, independent female Kyoko nearly got herself shot in the head a month ago. But him? He is _by far_ the worst!”

She leans down and pinches Naegi’s cheek. “Good thing he’s so adorable or I might not forgive him!”

Enoshima sighs dramatically and feigns irritation.

Softly, she speaks. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I should just marry him. Spend the rest of my life trying to keep ahead of his luck and stop it from putting him in an early grave. Fuck, keep all of them from getting themselves killed because I’m starting to think his dumb luck’s contagious.”

She stares off into the distance.

“ _Psych!_ ” She laughs hysterically. “I hope you didn’t buy any of that shit! Giving up despair. . . please!”

“You didn’t fool me.” He says only that, not the other truth he could have said.

“Figures. Ultimate Lie Detector or whatever the hell they put in you.”

He walks away, leaving Enoshima to admire her work.

* * *

“They’re dead.”

“Yep! Turns out after they broke the door down, they just couldn’t contain themselves and . . . Bye-bye Steering Committee!”

“. . . They killed the 76th class, too. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Enoshima rolls her eyes and looks disappointed in him. “You can’t decide what’s _supposed_ to happen when despair’s on the table. It’s illogical! Random! That’s why it’s so fun. Anyways, Reserve Course is holed up in their school and the government’s called the army in. . . Wow, all this despair is getting my motor running. If you had a sex drive, I’d be all over you.”

Kamukura doesn’t say anything.

Enoshima tilts her head. “What’s wrong? You’re not _upset_ over this, are you?”

. . . No, he’s not. But he’s not happy, either. He thought he would feel something after avenging _her_ , but the sensation he feels is empty. It’s not nothing; it’s not a complete lack of emotion, but it is empty.

“So, I have a great idea on how to proceed from here . . .”

“I’m not interested,” he says.

“Fine. Whatever. Guess I’m back to having that idiot as my sidekick. So, what are you going to do now? Pull a Superman and wander the world?”

He nods. His family do not care for Hinata. He has no true friends remaining. Nothing holds him here but the memory of Chiaki. But before he does leave. . .

“Enoshima, where is it you plan to take this?”

She stares at him blankly.

“Oh my god,” she says, a generous pause between each word. “Will you relax? I’m not going to murder your classmates, okay?

“Is that what you claim?” He is not sure if they are his friends, but they wept for _her_ and there is a kinship in that.

She throws her hands up in the arm. “We do such fine work together and you don’t trust me? Have I ever deceived you?”

“No, you have been honest with me.”

“Good, then listen up!” She grins at him. “I solemnly swear that I will not kill any of your classmates. No broken bones, no concussions, nada! Can’t guarantee there won’t be mental damage cause this is top-rate despair the world is going to get, but they’ll definitely still be alive and kicking.”

He accepts her promise.

( _What a fool._ )

* * *

The Reserve Course kills themselves that week. Fear of reprisal, the news says. Fear of torture and the army knocking at their door. He is not completely sure whether they came to that decision naturally, or if Enoshima goaded them.

Somehow, Ultimates maintain their control over the world, but it wanes more every day. Hope’s Peak chugs on but as she promised, it does not recover. Protests mar its grounds. Politicians and media engage in a vicious battle. The fountains in the gardens, the field trips, the luxuries, they are cut out as the school finds its funding drying up. Kirigiri Jin tries to protect his students, tries to convince the world not to blame them for the actions of their sponsors. But anger grows and students begin to flee to their homes.

The powder keg erupts. They begin as marches in the street, then become riots, riots that only grow in intensity as governments crack down. Then, comes the _Novoselic Incident_. He hears about it on the streets. Within weeks, war consumes Europe. All over the world, terrorists, armed with new, modern weapons, begin their long march. Corruption scandals explode everywhere and the flailing governments are either thrown into chaos or become vicious in defense of their power. Kirigiri Jin, seeing what is to come, calls for his students to return to his protection. Only the 78 th Class, encouraged by Enoshima and Naegi, accept.

The world is falling fast, and he sees no end to it.

He doesn’t care, either. Not until luck brings him to a television where others are watching the new Queen of Novoselic speak. He, who has briefly spoken to Nevermind and such, understands her better than any, knows immediately.

This is not Queen Nevermind.

* * *

“Isn’t it brilliant? I thought to myself: ‘Well, how can I make sure none of Kamukamu’s classmates are caught in the crossfire? Why, by making sure they’re on the winning team of course!’ You don’t need to thank me. I promised, didn’t I?”

He does not need her to explain the unspoken story. She used him. She shuffled the blame for the Tragedy onto him so she could remain at the school with his class. Normally, he would be irritated that she had manipulated him, but more interested that she _could._ But this isn’t normal, and she has desecrated his last connection to _her_.

“How?” he demands. This is not natural. He knew these students and while they were never pure, this is unnatural.

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” she says vaguely.

“. . . What are you?

Her smile warps. He realizes shortly after that it isn’t only that; the air around her is distorted – it always has been. Her ambience bleeds from her pores and it is unnatural, it is _inhuman_ and the universe itself responds and cowers.

“I am Despair.”

* * *

She must see through him. She is an Analyst. But perhaps he is more talented than even he thought, for when he asks to see her Despairs, claiming boredom, she doesn’t hesitate to say yes. They pass smoking rubble and piles of burnt corpses on their way to where the Ultimate Yakuza established the base of Ultimate Despair. Enoshima is greeted with tears by salivating disciplines who throw themselves at her feet.

He is greeted with silence.

Kamukura doesn’t quite hate them, but he dislikes them – these red-eyed distortions of the ones that Nanami once held so dear. And they dislike him. They do not trust him. They still hold him responsible for what happened to her. Enoshima orders them to deal with it; he is a guest. Ultimate Despair will obey her order to allow him to remain, but he knows they will be watching. They will be waiting for an excuse to revoke their hospitality.

That is fine. He’s played this part for a very long time. He will continue to do so.

Enoshima leaves him with them. He’s almost pleased at the thought. She used him, unravelled this world behind his back. Now, it is his turn. He will unravel her work in secret.

Komaeda had not been there when Enoshima and him arrived. The Lucky Student appears later, before Kamukura has figured out the first step of his plan. Komaeda grins like a scarecrow: an empty look with no thought behind it. Blood smears his cheek.

“Ah, Kamukura-kun. The Ultimate Hope,” Komaeda says, and there is something more unstable than usual there.

“Komaeda, where is that blood from?” he asks.

Komaeda laughs. The insanity grows and as Kamukura looks upon the Lucky Student . . . he begins to feel.

* * *

_Initial research is complete. Results suggest the subjects have been subjected to heavy emotional manipulation. Subjects should not be expected to act as their previous selves did._

_There is little motivation to their actions beyond the propagation of despair. As an extension of their lust for despair, Enoshima Junko is regarded as a divine figure. Subjects are highly emotional and erratic and very quick to resort to violence._

_A search of the premises has uncovered suspicious videos. Great talent went into these – more than Enoshima alone is capable of creating. These are Despair videos, the linchpin of her corruption, although they alone are not enough. Simple queries have yielded responses that confirm the subjects have seen them before._

_Komaeda Nagito is the only subject accepting of my presence. Caution must be taken when handling the others; until tactics can be solidified, more obvious methods may only be performed on the Lucky Student._

_Recovery of Class 77 will begin tomorrow._


	104. (Et Tu, Brute?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be an interesting chapter. I'll be curious to see the reactions.
> 
> edit: apparently Junko's hair isn't pink.

_Attempts to re-brainwash Class 77 have failed, as expected. Enoshima wouldn’t have left such an obvious loophole considering her adversaries in the Future Foundation. Although my own talent allows me to recognize such videos and remain beyond their influence, I have prepared and watched my own anti-brainwashing video for the minuscule chance that they catch me semi-conscious. Perhaps it would be beneficial to allow myself to be caught as such to lower their guards._

_As expected, reason will not work with her thralls. Several blind spots exist in their thinking, most of which revolve around despair. The subjects appear unable to grasp the holes in their reasoning; they also seem unable to comprehend my explanations of logical fallacies. The severity of this affliction varies with the person and must be taken into consideration._

_The Class’s ultimate motivation is to stamp out hope and spread despair around the globe. Our former teacher is now a mole in the Future Foundation, and is slowly guiding its leaders into waging an endless war of eradication. Civilian causalities would be immense, naturally, and this path is likely to led to a global extinction._

_There is another motivation to their actions: their own personal despair. Subjects freely engage in activities that actively go against their prior personalities and is often counterproductive to their ultimate goal. I have not yet worked out how to determine when they will choose between long-term and short-term despair._

* * *

_Manipulation seems to be the ideal method. Their lust for despair can be easily exploited and if performed correctly, this method is subtle enough that my intentions will not be uncovered. Each subject seems to have specific actions and behaviours tied to their brainwashing; eliminating these would likely led to the beginning of their recovery._

_My first attempts to convince the Gymnast to eat have failed. Even after explaining that more despair would be produced in the long-term if she remained healthy, she has refused to resume eating. She claims to understand what I was telling her. . . however, the Gymnast is known for her dull mind. More likely, she is not able to comprehend long-term scenarios. More success will be seen with the Imposter._

* * *

_I have begun conventional therapy with Komaeda. Given his inferiority complex and his desperate need for company, this will work. I have discovered that despite his easy acceptance of my presence, Komaeda no longer recognizes me as the Ultimate Hope. I imagine this is the brainwashing’s influence, otherwise Komaeda likely would have reverted after our conversation._

_The once-Princess called me today from her homeland, clearing seeking a partnership or a non-aggression pact with myself. Our conversation confirms what I already knew: while they all seek to spread despair, several of them do not acknowledge their actions as such. The Princess claims to be motivated by a need to better her country._

_The Princess agrees that her duty is to protect her people first. I have explained how war endangers them, both in the short-term and long-term. She agrees. There are too many countries involved for her to stop the war alone, but I have ensured that Novoselic’s_ _aggression will wane in the next few weeks._

* * *

_The Princess firebombed some refugee camps. Her explanation is that some of their residents were displaced by soldiers on her side and may seek revenge on her people when they mature; she says the protection of Novoselic must be first. She is now trying to convince her generals to commit a war of annihilation so that none can seek vengeance._

_When working with these subjects, I must remember that they are irrational and will not interpret my words as regular people would._

_The Imposter refuses to eat._

* * *

_I attacked the Yakuza’s masculinity. Told him that if he was unable to control his murderous urges then he was no better than a child. He has taken offense and vowed to prove me wrong by “fasting” from torture for a month._

_Despite their activities, they seem to maintain close friendships with each other and an attachment to Nanami’s memory. I cannot help but wonder whether they would have been friendly with myself had I befriended them in school. Perhaps Nanami had been right about that after all._

* * *

_Despite his eccentricities, Komaeda is responding well to therapy. I’ve used his love of hope to give him a sense of purpose distinct from despair. He has become very, very annoying because of it, but he is acknowledging himself as some form of expert on hope._

_The Breeder had a crisis today when I reminded him that some animals feel affection for the humans he is killing. I also introduced him to evidence suggesting that the domestic dog is genetically driven to bond with humans. This is good. A crisis indicates that he is listening to me. It is progress._

* * *

_Kuzuryu has not murdered anyone for a week. His temper is remarkably shorter and the others are avoiding him, but he has not killed._

_I have uncovered the truth about Koizumi’s murders that took place prior to her brainwashing. I held an unofficial therapy session with her and guided her to the conclusion that unlike most of the others, she is not a murderer. Forcing her to doubt that will strike at the core of the brainwashing’s hold on her._

_I attempted to speak to the Nurse today. She immediately asked if I could dye my hair strawberry blonde. I will try again with her another day._

_The Imposter still refuses to eat._

* * *

_Komaeda is going around announcing that I am his friend. I’m not sure what triggered the change in his mind. However, the closer he grows to me, Hope, the further he should grow from despair._

_The Chef spoke to me today, wishing to reminisce together about the despair of our parents’ deaths. Although I suspect the butchering of his mother was performed after brainwashing, I believe it is a key part of what is keeping him here._

_This has also confirmed that my parents are dead. I suspected this after I tried to check on them once and they couldn’t be found. My parents were mostly proud of me due to my immense talent. Kamukura has never met them, and has no attachment to them._

_I suppose there is more Hajime in me than I expected._

* * *

_Koizumi murdered today. She says she wanted to prove me wrong. I’ve managed to keep this from Kuzuryu, who continues to struggle to stick to his fast. His tool isn’t speaking, so I conclude that he is expressing his frustration verbally._

_I asked the Musician to play non-despair songs today. She obeyed, but claimed boredom afterwards and has returned to despair music. I am not sure how to convince her not to revert, especially when the Dancer advocates so passionately for her despair music. Unfortunately, even the dimmer members remember my behaviour in their class. They believe that I speak and act without feeling. In emotional conflicts such as the one between the Dancer and myself over the Musician’s music, I cannot win._

* * *

_I dream about the past sometimes. Nanami is always there but sometimes, I see them there. I see them when they were innocent. I remember them before Enoshima destroyed them._

* * *

_Tanaka is eating bodies. It is challenging to decipher his non-verbal speech, but it appears he believes that eating people will circumvent the bond pets and humans share and bind them to him. I do not understand his logic._

_I walked outside to find Nidai and Soda laughing over a pile of dead bodies. They hadn’t given any previous signs of being interested in massacres._

* * *

_Komaeda invited me to hang out with him. He is growing more confident. It is surprising that out of everyone, he is by far making the most progress._

_The others have faltered. Annihilation has become the new official policy of Nevermind’s armies. Her army spreads despair in its wake, entrapping others in the thrall of despair and they swarm to her banner. She will win the war._

_Saionji heard about my therapy session with Koizumi and tried to stab me at dinner. I talked her and the others down and convinced them my conversation with Koizumi was out of idle curiosity. Still, Saionji declared a girl’s night out. She, Koizumi, Mioda and Tsumiki left by helicopter. They returned covered in blood._

_~~Thankfully, Kuzuryu is sticking to his fast~~   Liar._

* * *

_A year ago, Nanami died on this day. They held a memorial for her._

_They wouldn’t allow me to attend._

* * *

_I spoke with Pekoyama today. She’s given me valuable insight about the beginning of their descent into despair._

_It seems so_ obvious _to me. I question how no one in authority realized what Enoshima was doing to them. Was it her talent? Is she able to mask the obvious from mortal eyes? Or was it because they didn’t care. Perhaps they did notice, but allowed it to continue. They would have recognized that Enoshima exhibited an unknown talent; did they deem the collection of talent more important then their students’ health? It wouldn’t be the first time._

_I would have noticed. That is obvious. Enoshima would have known that I would notice, too. I don’t think she would have attempted this had I remained at the school. I would have noticed, and stopped it. Right?_

* * *

_There’s been another massacre. They think it’s funny – in good fun. They don’t_ understand _what they’re doing. They lack all ability to emphasize with those outside their group. Even Komaeda doesn’t understand, although he declined their invitation to the massacre._

_At least there’s that. There’s some victory to be found in this._

* * *

_It was Nanami’s birthday today._

_They celebrated by burning her parents alive._

* * *

_Komaeda has been insisting that I tell him my birthday. Obviously, he intends to prepare something although I am unsure what. He was annoying enough that I gave him an arbitrary date._

_I have been here much longer than I intended. Komaeda Nagito is the only one I can claim with certainty has made improvement. The others, I work with them and they seem to understand . . . and then they revert. Or they get worse. They take my words and twist them and use them to justify increasingly horrific acts._

_But Komaeda is improving. It must be because Enoshima’s brainwashing did not properly affect him. Once he is cured, perhaps he will be able to give me the final clue I need to overcome that obstacle. How ironic that the one Nanami insisted I befriend ended up being the key to all of this. It must be our luck interacting._

_I am glad, however. It is reassuring to see some progress._

* * *

_Komaeda has managed to talk the others into hosting a birthday party for me. I honestly have no idea how, given their usual animosity towards him. I cannot deny though that they seem to be acting friendlier with each other, and there is a noticeable decrease in the hostility I face._

_This is the turning point. Komaeda’s despair has always been driven by pain and loneliness; if he does indeed go through with this celebration, I can reach him. I can cure him. Once I have one of them, the rest will follow. Enoshima’s thralls will be no more._

_It is almost done._

* * *

_~~This is the day Komaeda believes is my birthday. In reality, it’s just another unextraordinary day. They’ve asked me to come to the dining room at noon. Komaeda thought I looked hesitant, so he’s trying to bribe me with cake.~~ _

**_I was wrong._ **

* * *

 

 

_The cake was my parents’ heads. They’ve been planning this since the day I arrived._

_None of them are getting better._

* * *

_It’s been a year._

_I’ve made no progress._

_I need to think harder. I need to try harder. I need to be **better**._

* * *

_Europe has fallen. Nevermind’s sending dissidents to deathcamps._

_Africa will be next. The violence in Europe spilt over, and Tanaka has turned the wildlife against them to pick off the survivors._

_The Imposter is mimicking China’s president. The country is weeks away from civil war._

_Mioda and Saionji are using their performances to trick refugee camps into tearing themselves apart._

_Nothing’s getting better. I’ve only made things worse._

* * *

_~~Nanami was in my dreams tonight.~~ _

_~~She wouldn’t talk to me.~~ _

* * *

_Hinata Hajime would be dead in this world. He wouldn’t have what it takes to survive. But I am alive. Kamukura Izuru lives._

* * *

_Brainwashing and hypnosis has not worked._

_Psychotherapy_ _has not worked._

_Conditioning and reinforcement has not worked._

_Reasoning has not worked._

_Manipulation has not worked._

_Nothing has worked._

**_Nothing is working._ **

* * *

_Kamukura does not feel._

_Kamukura does not feel._

_Kamukura does not feel._

* * *

_I was a fool. I assumed Enoshima never knew what I was up to. That her talent wasn’t enough to beat mine._

_I was a fool. She knew what I had planned the entire time. Yet, she allowed me to pursue it. She allowed me to come here because she knew more than I. She knew I couldn’t save them. It is hopeless._

_I’m not Hope. I never was._

* * *

_There are reports that Future Foundation shot refugees fleeing towards them today, believing they were fakes. That’s not surprising. They remain oblivious to the spy in their midst. Their slide into decadence was inevitable._

* * *

_Despair is undefeatable. It always was._

* * *

_Why am I here?_

_Why do I exist?_

_What use is talent?_

_Nanami always preferred Hinata._

* * *

_Awoke to the sound of screaming. Ultimate Despair was having a torture party._

_Told them to keep it down. I wanted to sleep._

* * *

_Two years now. Nothing’s changed._

_Ultimate Despair rules the waste. They’ve won. There is no future. There never was hope._

* * *

_I –_

* * *

 

 

 

 _I’m so **bored**_.

 

 

 

* * *

Despair was inevitable. What hope did mortals have against the will of fate? The world that had sired him believed that talent was the end-all, so it was only logical that the greatest talents would prevail. But he, Kamukura Izuru, never had possessed an interest in guiding the world. Thus, it was only natural for that purpose to fall to Enoshima Junko. And fulfilled it, she had. The world stood at its precipice, about to fall. She held the world’s last hope in her hands, and cracks had already appeared as she tightened her grip. The apocalypse had already occurred, but what he was witnessing now would truly be the end –

What?

“Wh-what was that? That’s a joke, right?”

“The hell’s going on? Is this the right channel?”

“No! _NO!_ ”

Enoshima had . . .

She had lost?

His brain shut down. Restarted with a different operating system. That was impossible. It was illogical. Enoshima’s foes were Ultimates; they are merely mortals. And the Lucky Student himself is untalented. But the voting machine has stopped spinning, and numbers do not lie.

Enoshima has lost.

The others do not - _cannot -_ accept it until the block crushes her. He, though, knew before she pressed the button: Despair had lost – _Enoshima_ had lost. How? It was impossible. He had analysed her opponent at the beginning of the trial, and there was nothing special about Naegi Makoto aside from his luck. Yet there must be something else, because he had turned this around and _won_ . . .

Komaeda was crawling up to the screen. Kamukura already knew his thoughts, already understood how they combined in that twisted mind. Komaeda intended to go after Naegi. He intended to bring the Ultimate Hope _here_.

Here.

Kamukura looked back at the screen where Naegi laid.

He feels.

* * *

Naegi will fail. It is the truth. He has finally met Naegi again in person, and he is not Enoshima. He is boring. He is an average, overly-friendly child who does not understand his purpose or how he prevailed over Enoshima in the first place. There is nothing extraordinary about his reactions, no great strength that radiates from him. He is an innocent bystander caught in a conflict between superheroes and villains.

Kamukura knows this. He can already foresee Komaeda ripping him apart like a dog with its favourite chew toy. It has already begun. He’s watched Komaeda study the same closest for a couple of hours now. The Lucky Student is carefully keeping tabs on traffic, on how safe it is to store something(one) inside. Komaeda is stalking his prey, and Naegi has no idea a predator lurks in the shadows.

Naegi will break. Komaeda will destroy him.

Watching Komaeda is very boring, so Kamukura leaves. He simply walks, looking for something that may be interesting. Kuzuryu and Pekoyama pass him, and he pauses when he hears why Kuzuryu is shouting at her. It appears she has been unable to locate some clothes that he demanded, and is furious –

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Kamukura says without entirely meaning to.

They both look at him.

“She cannot find the clothes because they are not there,” he says.

Kuzuryu steps towards him in a bluff. “And why the fuck wouldn’t they be?”

“Komaeda’s been stealing them.”

He watches the realization dawn over him. Kuzuryu snarls and changes course, heading straight for Komaeda’s room. Kamukura goes silent as his mind zips through scenarios. He knows what Kuzuryu’s rage will lead to.

Naegi will fall eventually. This is certain. All he has done is delay the inevitable. There is no reason to do this.

(And yet he did.)

* * *

“Kamukura-kun, why did you lie for me?”

_Because I . . . I need . . . I need to prolong this . . . I need to give you a chance._

_Because you’re the only one who can save them._


	105. (Forgive Them, For They Know Not What They Do)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XD XD XD XD XD

It was rain without dark skies today. They could hear it from inside. Thick, heavy drops splattered against the windows, leaving streaks in their wake. The pure number of raindrops created their own form of cloud cover, though one could still walk outside and be sunburnt.

The window looked like it was melting to his naked eye, dripping in large rivers and pooling at the bottom. His breath condensed on the glass. He stuck out his finger. Two dots. A curve underneath. He leaned back and the window’s new happy face looked back at him. He giggled, and then added an ahoge.

He turned around. “Kamukura-kun –!”

No one was there.

He blinked. Ah, that wasn’t too surprising. Kamukura liked to appear and disappear without warning. But that made what he was doing boring. And lonely. He didn’t like being lonely.

Naegi tottered through the hall, alone. The Monokumas didn’t follow him around anymore, hadn’t after that heartfelt talk he’d had with Kuzuryu and Nevermind. Not that the Monokumas made for good company or anything. They couldn’t even feel Hope!

Soda’s workshop was closest, so he decided to look for the Mechanic first. Soda was a good guy, he usually had fun stuff to do. And it was Wednesday, so . . . so . . . maybe he could help! Or Soda could make despair and then _he could spread Hope!_ Brilliant!

Or if Soda wasn’t up to it, he could ask who was ordering all these soldiers around. Because a bunch of them were marching through the hall. He stepped aside to make room, watching with a smile as they filed on past. He stood there, waiting, until he realized the last soldier wasn’t moving.

He sighed. “I thought I no longer had to have a chaperone.”

He sidestepped the soldier and continued on his way. He looked over his shoulder. Yep, it was following him. He couldn’t get mad about that. After all the trouble he had caused, he deserved it.

The soldier followed him silently, and it was easy to push from his thoughts. His flighty mind focused on thoughts of Monokuma-wrecking, which was always a blast. True, it wasn’t Friday, but if he asked nicely –

The soldier grabbed him.

He only had one foot on the ground, so the soldier easily yanked him around. It held him tightly by the upper arm, hauling him in such a way that he was on his tiptoes. The soldier opened a door to a small room, then shoved him in and shut them both inside.

Naegi stumbled forward. By the time he’d turned around, the soldier had planted itself between him and the exit. When he attempted to go around it, it grabbed his shoulder to hold him back.

“Okay,” he said. “Am I in trouble? Is Kuzuryu-kun coming to talk to me? I swear I didn’t do anything!”

The soldier held up a gloved hand for silence. . . which wasn’t normal behaviour for them. He knew that, but hadn’t figured out what to do about it before the soldier reached up for its head . . .

Smoothly, the helmet slid off.

Naegi blinked. He laughed.

“That’s the best mask yet!” he said. “I mean, I’ve always known you’re amazing, but this is even better than the others –”

The Imposter held a hand up for silence again. He (she?) set the Monokuma helmet down (the red eye of which, Naegi realized, was glowing even though no one was wearing it). His hands raised to chest height. One hand snapped shut on the other and then pulled off the glove with a hypnotizing smoothness.

“You . . . You even made your hand look burnt,” he said. There was something, an inherent _wrongness_ to that action . . . But those were _bad_ thoughts! These were his friends. His silly, silly friends having fun with despair again!

The Imposter hesitated. Then he pulled out a cellphone and held it out to him –

“Hi, Naegi-kun!”

Naegi’s expression froze in place.

“I’m so glad to see you again!” Alter Ego said, his disembodied head swaying from side to side on the screen. “Uh, I mean it’s bad that we’re meeting again _here_ , but I’m still glad I get to see you!”

“Alter Ego,” he whispered. He reached, as if to touch the screen.

The person spoke. “I found the corpse of the copy that had been assisting you nearby. I believe I should be thanking your luck, because enough of his hardware was intact for my copy of Alter Ego to download his memories. With the information he provided me, I was able to devise a way to infiltrate this building.”

“K-k . . . Kirigiri-san . . .”

She smirked. “I told you that Kyoko was fine.”

“Kyoko . . .” He reached for her. She didn’t move. Not even when he touched her. Not even when his fingers trailed down her dusty face. When his fingers reached her chin, his other hand raised and copied the motion.

“Kyoko.” He said her name as if he hadn’t heard it before, as if it had belonged to a figure he had only known from myth. “You came for me.”

She gently unfolded his hands from her face. “Let’s go.”

“Kyoko.” He swayed forward and back on his feet. His hands were still up, hovering on each side of her shoulders as if about to go in for a hug.

Already heading for the door, she tugged on him. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” he echoed, digging his heels in. “Go where? Where are you taking me? Are you taking me to . . . _the Future Foundation?_ ”

She glanced back at his horrified whisper. She started to say something, stopped, then started again. “I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

“No, y-you . . . you can’t _!_ ” He slammed his heels into the ground hard enough to jolt Kirigiri and stop her tugging.

“I can. I will.”

“You _can’t!_ ” He leapt forward, catching her by surprise, and thrust his bracelet into her face. “They’ll know! This . . . it’s got an alarm and tracking in it. It’ll tell them you’re taking me. They’ll find you.”

“I’m guessing alarm is triggered by stepping out of bounds,” Kirigiri said.

He nodded. “Or if it’s taken off. And it’ll put me to sleep, too, so you . . . You can’t!”

“Ah.”

A short pause followed.

Kirigiri shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to move quickly once we’re outside then.”

“You’re not listening!” Was he whispering, was he shouting? The answer was yes and no at once. “We’ll get out and then they’ll find me and they’ll be mad and I promised I wouldn’t do this again. I promised, I promised, I promised – and they’ll be _really_ mad at you.”

“I can handle this, Makoto,” she said. “Trust me.”

“You can’t handle this – _no one can handle this!_ They’ll find you. They’ll find you and they’ll bring us back and they’ll be _mad_.” He grabbed Kirigiri’s lapels and pulled her close. He needed her to understand. “They do _bad_ things. They spread _despair._ They’ll make _you_ despair because that’s what they do and _I don’t want you to despair!”_

He stomped his foot as a howl built up in his throat.

“Makoto.” She grabbed his shoulders firmly. “Listen to me. They are not going to catch me. I am going to get you out of here. That’s _my_ promise.”

His face scrunched up and he nearly wailed because Kirigiri wasn’t listening to him and she was being _stupid_. Ultimate Despair would catch him, and they’d be mad at him and Komaeda would be mad at him, and they’d be mad at her and it _wasn’t his fault_. They’d catch her and slice her up and burn her and beat her and pump her full of despair and they wouldn’t let him bring her Hope because they were all mad at her and even though Kirigiri worked with the _evil_ Future Foundation he still liked her and he didn’t want her to despair –

Kirigiri had a knife in her pocket.

His head tilted downwards, hair shielding his eyes, meaning Kirigiri couldn’t see what he was staring at. He saw a hunting knife with a curved blade. It hung at her waist and apart from the sheath, nothing was holding it there.

He schooled his expression, and looked up. “You’ll take me somewhere safe?”

“Yes,” she said. “Trust me.”

His lips stretched into an empty smile. “Okay.”

She put the helmet back on, and motioned for him to follow. He did. He followed her out of the room, through halls and around corners, until she stopped. Her head turned, and he knew she was sizing up his bracelet, thinking.

“Do you have a plan?” he asked.

“We’ll improvise,” she said, but as he hoped she would, she looked away from him. She stared hard at the entrance as she considered how to proceed.

This was it. This was the moment. He watched the back of her head and reached forwards, fingers waggling like seaweed in a current. The knife was there. The knife was waiting. Pulsing like a excised heart. His tongue rolled out of his mouth.

His hand closed around the handle.

Kirigiri’s hand closed around his.

“I’ll rather you left the fighting to me,” she said, just before she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes widened. “Makoto?”

He panted. He couldn’t help it. Kirigiri catching him was as thrilling as the sneaking had been. He smiled – just for her, always for her. Kirigiri turned, angling her body so that she was between him and the knife at her waist.

She spoke haltingly. “Makoto?”

He laughed. It was like a hiccup. “You weren’t supposed to do that. It was supposed to be a surprise. Then there would only be a little bit, right before the end.”

“Of what?” she asked fiercely.

He leaned towards her, lips stretched so tight they ached. “ _Despair_.”

Her breathing hitched and he rolled back on his heels and laughed because that was fear and she finally _got it_.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. He raised his hand to stroke her cheek, but withdrew it when she jerked from the touch. “I know what to do. I . . . I haven’t done it before, but I’ve seen it. Kuzuryu-kun showed me. It’ll be quick. It will only hurt for a second.”

She wasn’t saying anything, just breathing hard. He felt. . . like a lion. A lion waiting for its prey to bolt so he could catch it by the neck and strangle it.

“It has to be this way. You know that,” he whispered. “You can’t fight them. You can’t stop them. You can’t win. They’ll find you and drag you back and you’ll _despair_. This isn’t the weak despair Junko gave you at the last trial. This is darker than that; this is _true_ despair.”

He sucked in air through his nose. Wiped his chin with his sleeve because he was drooling on the floor.

“I’ve seen them. I know what awaits you. Tanaka-kun will gnaw off your legs so you can’t run, and Hanamura-kun will feed it to you in a stew. Mikan will inject you with poisons that keep you awake and screaming for every moment Kuzuryu-kun spends skinning you alive. They’ll see it too, our friends. They’ll frame it all on TV, let the world know you died in despair begging for mercy. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You’re my best friend; I don’t want to see you suffer. We can change that future, Kyoko. Ultimate Despair doesn’t need to win.”

She was watching him so carefully. _Listening_. He grabbed her scarred hand in both of his own, and stroked the back of it.

“Kyoko . . . let me kill you.”

She didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. Naegi smiled, and his hand slid down her arm and then reached for her waist.

“I’ll make it quick. Trust me.”

His fingers touched the handle –

_Crack!_

His heart glitched, and then started up again. Naegi gasped and touched his red cheek. “K-kyoko?”

“Makoto, snap out of it!” She grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re not on their side. You’re not one of them _._ ”

“They’re my friends,” he said, dazed. “They made me. Komaeda-kun raised me. He made me into Hope.”

“You were Hope because you defeated Enoshima. You were Hope long before any of them got their hands on you,” she hissed, and her eyes were like slits.

“No, that’s when I was born,” he said. “That’s when Junko made me.”

Kirigiri stared hard at him.

She slapped him again.

With a cry, he landed on his side. He cradled the spot she had hit him. Kirigiri slapped him. Kirigiri had hit him. Why? Why would she do something like that? What had he done wrong?

He curled up, knees close to his chest. “Why would you do that?”

“I was hoping it would knock some sense into you.”

“ _Sense?_ ” he repeated and it felt like smoke poured out his nostrils. “You’re the one not making sense! You come in here and you think you can tell me what to do and what’s going to happen . . . You can’t. You know nothing. _I’m_ the one that lived with them. _I’m_ the one who knows them. You _will_ fail. They will win, because they _always win -_ ”

Her hand closed over his wrist and _twisted_.

“Wrong,” she said.

She released him with a sharp shove, nearly pushing him onto his back.

“Ultimate Despair hasn’t always won,” she said. “They’ve _failed_ to keep me away from you; they’ve _failed_ to prevent me from recovering Alter Ego; they’ve _failed_ to stop us from rescuing Komaru. And they will again fail to prevent me from rescuing you.”

He shook his head. “You can’t say that.”

“I can,” she said. “I still have hope.”

That lit a fire within him. “Hope? I’m the Ultimate Hope, not you! You don’t get to say what Hope can or cannot do. That’s me. Me, _me_ , _ME_!”

“Is that so?” she said. “Is that what you feel right now, Makoto? Do you feel hopeful?”

His tirade stopped in the middle of his throat. He breathed heavily. Drool slid over the corner of his lip.

“Look at me, Makoto. What is it you feel right now?”

What did he feel? He felt . . .? Like . . .

What did he feel?

~~Despair –~~

His body rejected the conclusion. His skull shrunk drastically, crushing his brain within a dome of bone. His fingers twitched and curled, like the bones within them were snapping in half. His ribs broke with them, leaving him with sharp pains peppering his chest.

“I feel . . .”

His shaking hands touched his own cheek, this time. He was Hope. He was the world’s shining light – the last light. He could be nothing but Hope. That was truth. That was destiny.

“I am . . . I . . .”

He was Hope. He must be Hope. There was no other option.

But the words wouldn’t come.

His lips smacked. They were dry and cracked. He was. He must be. _Then why couldn’t he -?_

Suddenly, he was sitting up with Kirigiri supporting him. He could not recognize what he saw shining in her eyes, but he saw the teary-eyed Alter Ego on its screen.

“Alter Ego, if you would,” Kirigiri said.

“Now?” Alter Ego blinked, and his tears seemed to disappear. “Yes. I understand.”

The head zoomed out, becoming nothing more than a small, blurred circle before disappearing. The screen flickered and went black. Naegi waited.

The screen flickered again, and there was colour. His eyes widened.

He wasn’t aware he was reaching for it. Kirigiri knew, however, and she pressed the phone into his palm. Naegi took it, turned it over so he alone could watch.

“Are we recording yet? We are?! O-okay, but make sure you cut that part out.” Komaru smoothed wrinkles out of her clothes, and then hopped towards the camera. “Hi, Makoto! Kirigiri-san says I can’t talk to you on the phone because you two have to be quiet, but I couldn’t wait until you got back to say something. I . . . I’m just so glad you’re alive! I know that probably doesn’t make sense, but . . . Tell Kamukura he’s a liar for me, okay?”

The screen went black. Naegi shook the phone, angry that it wasn’t showing more. Kirigiri tried to take it back, and he wrenched it away.

“Komaru,” he offered by way of apology.

Though he wanted it, he didn’t really have the will or the energy to stop her from taking it back. And take it she did. He was left very empty indeed, a ball of cold air where that phone should be.

“Komaru,” he said again.

She nodded. “I know.”

She leaned in.

Her arms wrapped around him.

Naegi remained still and stiff. A corpse. Kirigiri’s arm pressed into the small gap under his shoulder blade, her warmth countering his own clammy skin. Her thumb swiped against him; her hair spilled down his back. He loosely wrapped his fingers around her wrist, unsure how to proceed.

“It’s okay to cry,” she said.

It was as if that word had been a secret code. His chest seized up almost immediately, and his vocal chords soon followed. His breath seemed to frost over his mouth. He was shaking, not crying, but shaking.

Kirigiri shifted back and put her hand on his cheek. “You are not one of them.”

His lip wobbled. Then grew thin as a razor-hot fissure opened in his mind. It started right behind his eyes, and followed the contour of his brain backwards. Pain, both numbing and excruciating, flared out from the divide. He choked on his own saliva, hardly aware he was doing so.

There wasn’t enough air. He couldn’t keep himself upright. His nails dug into his skin, because somehow adding that pain made him feel better. His vision was growing darker, the ambient noise replaced by buzzing and the only thing that held him – the only thing that was _real_ – was the warmth of Kirigiri’s hand in his.

“K-Kyoko . . . Kyoko. . . _Kyoko. . .”_

Her body wrapped around his again.

And he _breathed_.

Like a drowning man breaching the surface, he gasped. Air flowed through his trachea, and down through the branching paths of his lungs. It froze the flesh it touched, and the ice radiated outwards until it engulfed his entire body. His vision returned with a splash of vibrant colour and with it, everything that was Kirigiri.

“Makoto?”

He raised his head off her thigh. “K -Kirigiri-san.”

“I told you Kyoko’s fine,” she said.

He wanted to take some time to rest. Take some time to breathe. But he needed to speak. “I tried. . . I was going to . . .”

“It’s alright,” she said.

“No.” His first attempt to sit up again didn’t quite work out. “I tried to kill you. I _wanted_ to kill you.”

“I know,” she said. “And if we must consider that, then after I get you out of here, I think I’ll finally have repaid you for everything you did for me.”

“Kyoko . . . I . . .”

And a male that was _not_ Naegi said, “. . . That’s it?”

Naegi’s head hit the ground as Kirigiri sprung to her feet. She whipped around, and became a homemade barrier between Naegi and the person who had just spoken.

“They spend _months_ eating away at him. Komaeda develops tortures personalized for him. He takes almost a year to spiral into despair, and all it takes to break him out of it is a few words and _hugs_?”

“Yes.” Kirigiri crossed her arms over her chest. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Kamukura Izuru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you really want to fuck with people, you should bring Naegi to his lowest point and pretend that's the ending."  
> \- Paraphrased comment by NagitoHajimeChiakiFan.
> 
> NO RAGRETS!!!!!!!! XD XD XD XD XD  
> But for real, Hope/Heart is an awesome power.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Kirigiri and Kamukura face off.


	106. The Flames of Hope

He’d imagined this before, hadn’t he? Kirigiri and Kamukura, the two strongest people he knew, facing off. They, with their cold, aloof personalities would exchange verbal barbs like two armies firing arrows at one another. Neither of them would smile, but they would both have that little lift to their chin that declared they were superior. One of them would announce their masterplan, only for the other to reveal they had a counterplan, only for the first to reveal they had accounted for that counterplan, only for the other to reveal that was exactly what they had been hoping for . . .

Never, however, had he come close to imagining the tension.

They stood alone with only him as witness. Kirigiri’s knife lay in its sheath, but it remained a loud threat. Kamukura should look even less threatening with his hands in his pocket, but he didn’t. A few feet of space lay between them – either could have lunged and slain the other in an instant. Or maybe not, because the invisible heat they threw towards each other made its own barrier.

“Kamukura Izuru,” Kirigiri said. “Hope’s Peak’s _great_ creation.”

“Did you find the Future Foundation’s report on me, or did you recover your memories?” Kamukura asked.

Kirigiri flipped her hair. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Naegi looked from one to the other, trying to figure out if this contained a hidden conversation.

“Makoto.” Kirigiri held out her hand. Naegi grabbed it, and she yanked him to his feet. “We’re leaving.”

“ _You_ may leave,” Kamukura said, “but I can’t let you take him with you.”

Kirigiri didn’t seem to move, and yet she did. Muscles tightened across her back and she puffed up somehow, like an angry animal facing its tormentor.

“That isn’t your choice to make,” she said.

“He can’t leave. Not now. I need a little more time.”

“I imagined you smarter than this,” she said. “Do you honestly believe I intend to let him spend another minute in this place with you? This is not up for negotiation.”

“Isn’t it?” Kamukura said. “I can stop you with my bare hands. You know this.”

Kirigiri was silent, but Naegi read the uncertainty in her energy.

“Let me explain,” Kamukura said. “Let me tell you my proposition. I wish to make a deal with you.”

Kirigiri was silent.

“If you insist,” she finally said.

“I believe it would be best if we have this discussion out of his presence,” Kamukura said.

Kirigiri nodded. “Makoto, stay here.”

Just like that, he was alone. He hated being alone, but Kirigiri had ordered him to stay, so he sat against the wall and twiddled his thumbs. For about five minutes. Then he started whimpering because he didn’t like being alone.

It felt like forever before somebody found him. He didn’t think Pekoyama had been looking for him; she just happened across him. He bounced to his feet, eager to greet one of his friends.

“Naegi-kun.” She nodded at him, although she didn’t really look at him.

“Pekoyama-san! Were you looking for me?” He regretted how hopeful he sounded after remembering Kirigiri had told him to stay put. Even if she wanted to hang out with him, he couldn’t follow her.

“No,” she answered curtly.

Kirigiri wouldn’t let him follow Pekoyama, and that upset him because he didn’t want to be alone. So, he kept talking to keep her from leaving. “What are you doing then? Where’s Kuzuryu-kun? Are you doing him a favour?”

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Pekoyama said.

“I know, but . . .” He shuffled his feet. “How are you? Anything interesting happen lately?”

She squinted at him. “What is the point of this interrogation?”

“I just wanted to talk,” he said. “I feel like we don’t talk that much.”

Calmly – and it was clear she was reciting Kuzuryu – she said, “Servants are meant to be seen, not heard.”

“You’re not my servant. Is Kuzuryu-kun’s being a jerk again, huh?” he asked. He felt like rolling his eyes.

Something in her stiffened. “What did you say?”

“Uh, sorry!” he squeaked. “But you know it’s true. He shouldn’t be saying that stuff about you. He’s just being a jerk.”

She was quiet for a spell. Pekoyama shifted so that her shoulders were square with him. “Naegi-kun, what would you say if I reminded you that Kuzuryu-kun doesn’t care about me?”

He scowled. He wanted to stomp his feet, but was leery of scaring her off and being left alone. “I would say that’s wrong. If Kuzuryu-kun didn’t think anything of you, then why does he ask you to do things all the time? If he really thought you were a dumb, useless tool, there’s no reason for him to trust you with anything important. Yet every time he wants something done right, he asks you, doesn’t he?”

She was quiet again. She leaned over, then pried his eyelid open and peered at the iris. He reflexively tried to blink, but the muscles holding her finger steady were stronger than those in his face.

“What happened?” she said aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“Naegi-kun, you’re . . .”

He blinked.

“I need to go.” Pekoyama stood up again and briskly walked off.

“But . . .!” His protest died unvoiced as she disappeared around a corner. He hugged himself, hating the loneliness and the cold.

Kirigiri and Kamukura did not return for a while. He would have fallen asleep, but fear gnawed at his belly. He didn’t like being alone. Bad things happened when he was alone. He wondered what Komaeda was doing. He wondered if Komaeda would have left him alone.

Then, they returned. He sprung to his feet and frolicked around them like a puppy greeting its owner at the door. Kamukura tried to stop him by pushing him down, but Naegi merely latched onto the arm like an octopus.

“Makoto.”

“Kyoko!” He grinned over his shoulder as Kamukura continued to try to pry his arm free.

Naegi finally let go when Kirigiri walked towards him. As usual, her face was blank. Even as her arms opened and she went in for a hug, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“One week,” she breathed into his ear.

“Kyoko?”

“We will return for you in one week,” she said.

She was leaving? He couldn’t move because his brain had run smack into a logical loop. It was good: Kirigiri should leave because they would kill her. It was bad: Kirigiri couldn’t leave because he needed her. Both were equally correct, and both were wrong. There was no leeway.

“Kamukura Izuru, you will fulfill your side of the deal?”

“I will,” Kamukura said. “If Naegi Komaru questions it, tell her I had hoped the trade would fail all along.”

Kirigiri backed up before Naegi had reacted to the hug. Her hand lingered though, on his shoulder, along the curve of his arm and to his wrist. She squeezed.

“Be strong,” she said. And then she was walking away.

Kamukura grabbed him, keeping him from chasing after her. He whimpered, but orders were orders and this was _Kamukura_. Nothing could stop him.

“Naegi-kun?” Kamukura said.

Naegi looked up.

Kamukura said, “. . . Everything’s going to be okay.”

* * *

In another age, Pekoyama would be running away from her Master’s room instead of towards it. Why? The why was quite simple; she could not be certain this was her in control of her body right now. Years of training and discipline have given her a through understanding her herself. This momentum, this smouldering flame Naegi had breathed into life, it was something she had never known before. But it swept over her like a virus, invading every cell. Her legs moved without thought, taking her to the Master’s room and though she knew not what she was doing, did not even know if she had become a threat, she felt neither fear nor regret as the pushed the door open.

The open door It revealed a dim room coloured by a single, reddish light. Thick drapes lay across the windows in the back, and their heavy shadow swallowed the light along the edges of the room. If one looked closely, they would see guards in the darkness, abnormally still. More likely though, their attention would be with the desk near the back. Someone sat at it, his feet on the table. It made him looked like one big, black blob but as always, that single red eye glowed in the dark.

Pekoyama stepped forward. “Young Master.”

The head inclined ever-so-slightly. “You know, I was thinking recently that this room seemed a lot brighter. Cleaner. Better. Turns out, I just didn’t know you had left!”

The insult rolled off her back. “Young Master, I have a question I need to ask.”

“. . . I didn’t know you were smart enough to do that.” Kuzuryu laughed hysterically, and Pekoyama could picture him slapping his knee like in an old movie cartoon. “Shit, this is going to be good. Go ahead. Shoot . . .” His head turned suddenly. “Fuck, I’m not talking to you guys!”

The guards put their guns back in their holsters.

Pekoyama. “Young Master, I wanted to know . . . Why am I here?”

Silence.

“I don’t know Peko, why are you?” Kuzuryu said. His feet came off the desk. “You’re the one who busted in here demanding to ask a question.”

“Forgive me,” she said. “Allow me to rephrase: why aren’t I dead yet?”

Kuzuryu’s fingers tapped on the desk, one after the other in a straight line. “I imagine that’s because your heart is beating. Good to know I was right about stupid fucking questions.”

She took a deep breath. “Kuzuryu Fuyihiko, why haven’t you killed me?”

Another silence followed, this one stunned.

“. . . Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we don’t exactly go around killing each other here,” Kuzuryu said, his arm sweeping around the room. “What? You think you’re special enough to be an exception?”

“You try to hurt me all the time,” she said. “You enjoy it. You _crave_ it.”

Kuzuryu chuckled as he shook his head. “Oh, Peko. Peko, Peko, Peko. They say there’s two types of people in the world: wolves and sheep. But see, I don’t think that’s right. Sheep are fucking pathetic. They don’t fight back. You do. That makes you more like a stag. It doesn’t matter to the fucking wolf, of course, because it eats them both, but what they don’t tell you in your shitty biology class is that the wolf usually ends up eating the stag _alive_.”

Jaw tight, Pekoyama said, “You torture me for despair. Just as Enoshima did to Ikusaba.”

“ _Don’t forget your fucking honorifics!_ ” he snarled. “I do though. You’re pathetic, but I appreciate you see the similarity. Enoshima-san’s cultivation of despair was an artform. The most beautiful thing this world has ever seen. What I do . . . it’s only a pale imitation, but you bet I fucking try!”

Pekoyama hissed, “Enoshima-san _killed_ her sister. I’m still here.”

Kuzuryu froze. The space around him froze. The room froze.

“That’s the logical conclusion, isn’t it?” Pekoyama said. “That would bring you the greatest despair. Why haven’t you done it?”

Kuzuryu scoffed. Though he seemed to take her accusation without faltering, he got out of his chair and began to walk around the desk towards her. “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand. Sometimes, we got to put off our own despair for the big picture. Do you think we would have gotten here if we all killed each other – or ourselves – for the despair right away? Maybe you should go back to fucking preschool and start learning this little thing called ‘common sense.’”

“But we are here now,” Pekoyama said. “We have been here for over a year. Enoshima-san killed her sister during the Killing Game because Ikusaba was no longer useful to her. I am no longer useful to you. Yet we are here, and you have done nothing.”

Kuzuryu breathed heavily. “Dumb Peko. Stupid Peko. Useless, _pathetic_ _Peko!_ ”

“I haven’t been useful to you since I ruined your chance of retrieving Enoshima’s A.I.” Pekoyama said.

Kuzuryu laughed wildly, eye swirling. “You think that set me back? Stupid, smelly Peko -!”

Pekoyama stepped forward and snarled, “I _burned_ her corpse.”

Kuzuryu stilled.

“It wasn’t the Future Foundation. It was me,” she said. “I confess.”

Behind his eye, she could see Kuzuryu questioning everything he ever knew. It didn’t last long, however. Her Young Master’s response to fear had always been rage, and rage he did. His red irises seemed to bleed over into the whites, and his teeth were showing in an animalistic snarl.

“You . . . you fucking _bitch!_ You coward! You . . . _you bitch!_ ”

He screamed. He screamed so loudly that the brainwashed soldiers grabbed their guns even without their master’s order. He screamed until his voiced cracked. He couldn’t scream anymore after that, having exhausted himself to the point where he could only stare at her and pant.

“. . . If I were anyone else, you would have shot me the moment I confessed,” Pekoyama said.

“. . . Get out.”

She moved instinctively, though she didn’t want to. It turned out though that he wasn’t talking to her. For he spun around and spat that order again at the guards. They filed out one by one. Pekoyama didn’t move as the door shut, leaving her alone with her vicious Young Master.

“Is this what you want, Peko? To die?” He laughed bitterly. Swirls started in his pupils, then slowly grew outwards until they were all that was.

 _Click_. He lifted his gun. Pointed it at her chest. Pushed it forward until it pressed into her chest.

He shook his head slowly. “No. Not like this. Too slow. The wolf eats the stag alive. This . . . this is better.”

He moved the gun so that it pointed at her abdomen.

“You know what happens if I pierce the stomach, right? All that acid and bile leaking into your abdomen, slowly digesting your organs. . . and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. No one will help you. You know, kneecapping’s painful as shit, too. Why don’t I give you both? Then, I’ll leave you in here. Don’t worry, I’ll patch you up a bit. Can’t have you dying right away. I’ll make sure you live for a few hours, at least. But every moment will be in agony.”

He reached up and stroked her cheek in a cruel parody of a lover’s caress. It was brief, for a few seconds later, his hand tangled in her hair and he yanked her head down. His lips brushed her ear, and she felt them curl into a smile.

“How’s that sound to you?” he asked. “Do you approve of how you’re going to die?”

He released her, and she straightened up. She couldn’t speak, but the Young Master was waiting for her answer. The swirls twisted like a tornado, the colour so bright it seemed to drown out the rest of his face. That hideous fedora sat on his head like a crown.

She swallowed. Tendrils in her mind were groping, searching for that connection with him that had been long lost. She could feel the cold metal of the gun’s muzzle through her shirt. The Young Master had decided then. There was no choice but to lay down like a dog and wait. . .  yet she could not. She could not yield because he had waited and she still _lived_ –

And she saw it. The extended arm connected to the gun. The extended, _shaking_ arm. The smile that was not quite a smile. Without warning, like a switch had been toggled, something in their minds _linked_. She saw her master. She saw _him_. And she understood him.

She grabbed his wrist. Steadied it.

“If this is what please you, then I accept.”

Kuzuryu swayed on his feet. He laughed drunkenly. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

“Well, if that’s what you want, then obviously I can’t do it! Can’t have you enjoying yourself, can I? That defeats the point!” With that declaration, the gun fell away from her abdomen. He chuckled, and it was a much calmer sound. A much saner sound. “Get the fuck out of here.”

He stuffed his hands in his pocket and started to walk back to his desk.

“That’s not acceptable,” she said. “If you truly desire to oversee the propagation of despair, then you know I must die.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I know!” Kuzuryu shouted. “You’re not one of us. You don’t know shit.”

Pekoyama said, “I do know this.”

He laughed. This time though, it was different. Usually, Kuzuryu looked her straight in the eye when he laughed, savouring her humiliation. Yet this time, he turned around so all she saw was his shaking shoulders. He laughed and wiped sweat from his brow, removing his fedora afterwards so he could fan himself with it. A red flush crawled up his cheeks, as if he were standing in the middle of a desert. His gun was in hand, but it was at his side, tapping on his thigh in an abnormal pattern.

And he turned around. His eye was no longer swirling, but it was blood-red. There was no pupil, no sclera, just glowing red. His mouth hung open as he laughed, and didn’t shut afterwards.

There was plenty of warning, but she didn’t act upon it. When Kuzuryu reached, she let him grab her. When his weight was thrown forward, she allowed him to slam her into the wall. When the gun’s muzzle kissed her neck, she held his gaze.

“ _Do you want to die that badly?_ ” he hissed. “I can do it. You know I can. You’ve lost count of how many people I’ve killed in the last month. My only regret would be that you got guts all over my nice floor.”

The words were fierce. His behaviour matched. Yet, even as the executor’s axe seem to raise above her neck, there was a shining light she held onto: she was still alive. The gun pressed into her flesh and the safety was off, but he did not shoot. She . . . she had to believe that he would not shoot. She had to believe that he was still in there.

“I do not want anything for myself,” she said. “I want only what pleases you. I want only to bring you despair.”

This time, _she_ grabbed _him_. She knew not if it was surprise or something else that stayed his hand as she pulled him even closer. They breathed each other’s air. The heat from his fogged up her glasses.

“Young Master, is it time for you to kill me.”

 _Bang_.

She did not look behind her from fear, but shock. The Young Master was violent, yes, but it was his minions that engaged in shootouts on his behalf. Despite that truth however, he was still the Ultimate Yakuza and thus, an excellent shot. For the bullet to have pierced the wall next to her then, it could only have been on purpose.

“ _Shut up!_ ” he shrieked. “ _Stop telling me what to do!_ ”

He started to back away. She did not let him. She ran on instinct now, her mind and body reacting to those minute signals passing through that frail connection. She grabbed his wrist; his hand twitched and his finger came off the safety. She pulled his arm and anchored it so that it pointed right at her heart and wouldn’t move.

“I can’t allow you to make this mistake, Young Master,” she said. “If you will not do this, then _I will_.”

Her thumb moved down the gun and hovered near the trigger –

“ _NO!_ ”

His knife slammed into the wall next to her head. He tore away from her, gun and all, holding the knife up as if she were about to charge and attack him.

“ _You don’t decide that!_ ” he screamed. “I’m in charge. You are _mine_. My sword! You die only when I say you can!”

“If not now, then when?” she asked.

He charged. He shoved her into the wall again and the gun pressed into the underside of her chin. His trembling body leaned against her for support, and he grabbed her shirt to keep himself from sliding down.

“I . . . I . . .”

“Will you kill me for despair, Young Master?”

And she heard him. He spoke so quietly that she temporarily thought it was her imagination, but she heard him.

“ _. . . I don’t want to._ ”

The red in his eye seemed to be pulsing. He was slick with sweat. Pekoyama reached up, gently pointed the gun away from them, and spoke.

“Then don’t.”

Kuzuryu gasped. He did not release the gun, but neither did he fight her when she took it from him. His fingers remained curled as if gripping something, even as he slid to his knees. He looked straight above, but seemed to see nothing.

A strange sound like a moan escaped him. He was curling up, rocking back and forth like he had witnessed something terrible. His lips were pale, almost blue, and they wobbled.

He started to scream.

He screamed, and it wasn’t stopping. He was rolling back and forth on the floor, trying to rip out his own hair. There was no hesitation. She threw the gun aside and dove to her knees herself. Kuzuryu fought her. He snarled and hissed and tore at her with his nails, but she held him steady as his body thrashed with what appeared to be a seizure.

And he stopped.

“Young Master?” She shook him, her eyes wide. “Master?”

“P-Peko . . .”

Kuzuryu opened his eye and looked up at her.

It was gold.

“Peko. Peko, Peko, Peko, Peko . . .”

Quietly, the heir to the yakuza began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As seen with Komaeda, sometimes Naegi can't help somebody. Sometimes, the answer is he needs to set up events so that someone else can.
> 
> I don't know if anyone ever picked up on it, but if you read between the lines, there's instances where the Despairs allude to knowing there is something very wrong with them and hating it. Mostly, it happens with Hanamura, but I know it's happened at least once with Kuzuryu.
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> We haven't seen Tsumiki for a while, eh?


	107. The Negotiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: omg it's not sunday today. and i was in such a rush to edit this too

Naegi sighed. He, laying on the floor, kicked his feet in the air. He was so bored. Maybe this is what Kamukura felt like all the time.

He peeked over his shoulder. He brightened up. As quietly as he could, he crept over to the door. He reached for the doorknob –

“Naegi.”

Naegi sighed. Under Kamukura’s watchful gaze, he shuffled back to the middle of Kamukura’s room and laid down again.

He kicked his feet. This was going to be the longest week _ever_.

* * *

“There are no signs of anyone approaching. Asahina and Fukawa haven’t reported anything from their positions either. You should be in the clear.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Togami scoffed. “Just make sure you find what you’re looking for.”

The Heir’s voice crackled on the walkie-talkie. Kirigiri paid it no mind as she slipped the lock pick out of her pocket. She wondered if Munakata thought the ‘secret’ door in his office was honestly that hidden; she’d noticed it the first time she’d been allowed inside. Ah, no matter though. It would be better if he thought it was.

She broke in without too effort. Her eyes flickered over the shelves, making sense of the chaos. Confidential information had to be kept somewhere, and a secret room in the head’s office seemed like a good place to start. The information she was looking for wasn’t _too_ confidential, either.

It was much like the secret room she and Naegi had found in Hope’s Peak: a room filled with bookshelves, and a table and chair in the center where she could read. If there was one good thing about the apocalypse, it was that the loss of electric grid systems and networks had forced organizations to return to paper and pen. She had always preferred searching through information stored that way.

The room was lit up by a single lamp. Munakata, the organized person that he was, had arranged these documents carefully. It took a surprisingly long time to determine what that order was, but once she had, she took a pile and sifted through them.

She did not know how long she spent there. Time went fast when you were having fun. But then, her roving eyes spotted the words she was looking for, and she leaned in for a closer look. She drank in what she saw.

Yes, this was it.

As elegantly as she had arrived, she restored the room to its original shape – save for those few documents she needed, of course. The lamp turned off, sending the room back into pitch-blackness when she shut the door. She walked outside calmly, as if she hadn’t just robbed her boss.

“Did you find it?” Togami asked in a low voice when she passed him in the building.

“I did.”

* * *

The door was heavy as it shut behind him, like he was being locked in a cell. In response to that anxious thought, Nidai cracked his knuckles. It didn’t do anything to change the situation, but it made him feel better. There wasn’t much light in the room; someone had turned on the light furthest from the door, but not the closer one. He groped the wall until he found the light switch, and then flicked in.

Like a rat scurrying out of a suddenly inhabited room, there was a cluster of movement. And a shriek. Tsumiki, in her panic, tripped over her own feet. Nidai turned his head away as the fall had left his friend in an . . . interesting position.

“N-Nidai-kun!” Tsumiki scrambled back to her feet and bowed awkwardly. “I’m sorry for startling you!”

Nidai scratched the back of his head. “Uh, it’s alright. So . . . you’re the one that called me here?”

“M-me?” Tsumiki took a step back. “I’m sorry, b-but that’s not right. Didn’t you call _me_ here?”

“Huh? Did we both get the same note?” Nidai held his hand out. Tsumiki reached inside her pockets and pulled out a crumpled paper, which she gave to him. He opened it up, and read it. “Same thing I got. So, you don’t know who sent it either.”

“No,” she said. “D-do you think it was a prank?”

“I don’t see . . .” Suddenly, he laughed heartily. “This is just like those shows where two people are locked in a closet together!”

“Us?” Tsumiki squeaked. “But I don’t . . . _I’m sorry!_ ”

Nidai slapped her on the back, making her cough. “I don’t want to marry you either. You’re too frail to keep up with me! But who sent us these notes?”

As if summoned by his question, the door opened. They both turned to look.

“. . . This is an unexpected crowd,” the Imposter said as approached the two. He brushed black bangs away from his face. “Why have you summoned me?”

“D-did you get a note telling to come here, too?” Tsumiki asked.

“That I did,” the Imposter said. “Obviously, we three are in the same boat. Do any of us have any idea who -?”

“It was me.”

The door shut again. The three watched warily as Kamukura approached them.

“What do you want?” the Imposter said.

“An armistice,” Kamukura said. “We have an interest in common. I would like to see us work together toward that common goal.”

“And what is that?” the Imposter demanded.

“The welfare of our classmates,” Kamukura said just as the door opened again.

“. . . You got to be fucking kidding me,” Kuzuryu said from the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” Nidai asked.

“Got a note telling me to come here, but that’s not important.” Kuzuryu stomped up to Kamukura. “The welfare of our classmates and _you_? Seriously? Do you think any of us believe that shit?”

“K-Kuzuryu-kun . . .” Tsumiki began.

“I _know_ it was you!” Kuzuryu spat. “It was your fault! You had Hope’s Peak so far up your ass that they spread that stupid shut about Nanami-san being . . . It was _you_! And you think you can stand here and say you give a flying fuck about any of us?”

“I could claim the same considering how you’ve treated Naegi Makoto since his arrival.”

“That’s different! He . . .”

“You don’t still honestly believe your actions were in the right, do you?” Kamukura pressed.

Chastised, Kuzuryu shut his mouth. Pekoyama watched him out of the corner of her eyes, and demanded of Kamukura, “Why have you gathered us here?”

“Because of our similarities.” Those cryptic words were followed by Kamukura reaching up, and into his eye . . .

When his hand lowered again, the eye was green.

A tense silence followed. Kuzuryu automatically adjusted his eyepatch, as if worried what was underneath was showing. Mikan nibbled on her lower lip, and looked from Kuzuryu to Kamukura. The Imposter looked calm, but rigid. Nidai released a heavy sigh.

“The gig’s up then.” Nidai peeled the red contacts away. “You’re the one who left them for me, aren’t you? I thought it was the Imposter.”

“I’m afraid not,” the Imposter said. “My contacts are for my own purposes only.”

“Kamukura-kun g-gave them to me directly,” Tsumiki said. She stared almost wistfully at the contacts in her palm.

They all looked to Kuzuryu. White-knuckled, the Yakuza stared straight ahead. But the trap of peer pressure was an enticing one and before long, Kuzuryu sighed and removed his own contact lens.

“I’ll admit that I did not see this coming,” the Imposter said. “But why is this important? You gathered us here for a reason. Comparing eye colour does not strike me as one.”

“It does matter,” Kamukura said. “It matters what colour they are _not_.”

“Red,” the Imposter said. In the background, Tsumiki cast a wary glance at Pekoyama.

Kamukura held something out for them to see. Although it was in pieces, the shell of the Despair Video was easily recognized. Kuzuryu made a little sound of fondness as he gazed upon it.

“Do you remember what happened when you watched this, beyond that nonsense of ‘understanding despair?’ ” Kamukura gaze roved over them, ensuring they had at least some idea before he continued. “It changed you. _Warped_ you. No matter how much you enjoyed it, you must realize that now. Enoshima Junko brainwashed you into becoming monsters.”

Kuzuryu stirred uneasily, doing his best not to glance up at Pekoyama, who similarly was trying to pretend she was not checking on him. Tsumiki was hugging herself, shivering. Both Nidai and the Imposter looked uncomfortable with the attack on their once-goddess, but neither contradicted him.

Kamukura walked up to Tsumiki and stared her down. “If I had made that claim half a year ago, you would have tried to kill me. That goes for the rest of you.”

A hiss escaped from Kuzuryu’s gritted teeth. Being the most recently recovered, he would know that truth more than the others.

Kamukura said, “The rest of our classmates are still monsters. They are _dying._ Owari Akane is the obvious example, but eventually, despair will claim the others. It has already claimed their minds. You know that they are not normal. You know that this is not right.”

“What are you suggesting?” Nidai asked.

“. . . Healing,” Kamukura said, backing off the Nurse. “It is doubtful that you can be restored to the people you were before meeting Enoshima, but at the least, we can erase the influence of her brainwashing.”

“You’re going to have to explain that further,” Nidai said. “I’m not sure how I broke out of it. My eyes just . . . changed. No idea how!”

“It was Naegi Makoto,” Kamukura said. “It’s the influence of the Ultimate Hope. . . and there lies the problem. Naegi Makoto alone cannot handle the weight of this task, and yet he is the only one that can succeed. His mind is very fragile and cannot withstand the sustained psychological assaults living here will put him through.”

“Then you think w-we should just leave him alone?” Tsumiki asked.

“That’s not enough,” Kamukura said. “While you five may be content to leave him be, the others will not. Additionally, he is dependent on you.”

“So, if there’s nothing we can do, then why the hell are we here?” Kuzuryu demanded.

Kamukura acted as though he hadn’t spoken. “The problem lies in the skewed power dynamics. While he remains here, as your prisoner, he cannot handle the stress. Hope cannot flourish.”

“Oh, so you want us to hand him off to the Future Foundation.” Kuzuryu’s laughter was light, but his eyes were hard and his hand curled into a fist.

“No, that isn’t enough,” Kamukura said. “Then he wouldn’t be around them for enough time.”

“. . . Again, not seeing any solutions here,” Kuzuryu said.

“Naegi Makoto cannot be the prisoner here.”

Then, his audience understood.

“Y-you want to imprison our friends?” Tsumiki gasped. “I-I can’t do that. It’s too mean!”

“You’re out of your fucking mind. Peko!” At her master’s command, Pekoyama drew her sword and waited for Kamukura to make his move.

 “Weren’t you the one saying you wanted to _help_ our friends?” The Imposter said.

Lightning crackled around Nidai’s eyes. “Hell yeah! This isn’t what you promised.”

Kamukura calmly listened to their protests. When they were finished, he idly examined his hand, keeping it at chest height so he could react if someone did something stupid. “When you were ill, were you not confined to a hospital, Nidai?”

The big Coach blinked. “Uh, I guess I was.”

“That’s different,” Kuzuryu scoffed.

“Is it?” Kamukura asked. “He was sick physically. They are sick mentally. As are you. You may have shaken off the brainwashing, but that doesn’t mean you are well yet.”

“A-are we going to move to a hospital?” Tsumiki asked.

“That’s stupid!” Kuzuryu snapped. “We can’t just decide we’re all going to be handcuffed to beds all day. The Future Foundation would be chucking bombs at us from every direction!”

“Kuzuryu is correct,” Kamukura said. “Recovery here is not an option. You need to leave.”

“And where are you suggesting?” the Imposter asked.

Kamukura turned his back to them. He stared at the room’s closed door. To himself, he mumbled, “I feel lucky. . .”

Just then, the knob turned.

Kamukura looked over his shoulder at the gathered Despairs, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “I believe my associate is here.”

The door opened.

Chaos ensured.

“ _Peko!_ ”

Pekoyama lunged forward, sword ready. It looked like a line of rippling silver as it swung through the air – until Kamukura’s previously hidden knife deflected its blow. The strength and speed behind his next swing sent Pekoyama stumbling back, even though she had the longer weapon. Nidai was ready to fight as well, but he lacked the murderous hate that Kuzuryu possessed and stayed back.

“You brought the Future Foundation here!” the Imposter snapped at Kamukura.

“I would appreciate if you didn’t lump me in with them,” Kirigiri Kyoko said. “They are the means to an end, nothing more.”

“Wh-what do you want?” Tsumiki said. She, too, lacked Kuzuryu’s violent hate, but there was certainly dislike there.

Kirigiri looked to Kamukura, who spoke once more. “I have a question that needs answering: are any of you still interested in spreading despair?”

The five members of Ultimate Despair exchanged looks, confused.

“The fuck else do you think we’re doing?” Kuzuryu said. “We’re Ultimate _Despair_. That’s what we do.”

“That isn’t the question,” Kamukura said. “Are you still personally interested in spreading despair? Do any of you _care_ about it?”

An awkward silence followed.

“Our friends like it,” Tsumiki mumbled.

“But do _you_?” Kamukura stressed.

No one answered him. No one looked him in the eye.

“We’re in agreement that despair is not good for their health,” Kamukura said, “If none of you are still willing to pursue it, then I see no reason why this organization needs to continue.”

“You want . . .” Nidai swallowed hard. “If we stop, then what? What are we working towards?”

“As I said before,” Kamukura said, “healing.”

“Have you . . .?” Kirigiri began to say. Kuzuryu snarled at her, but a glare from Kamukura quieted him. “. . . As I was saying, have you ever heard of Jabberwock Island? It was a former resort town that is currently uninhabited. According to their records, the Future Foundation attempted to repurpose it for an experimental therapeutic treatment, but were unable to achieve the results they desired. They have not returned there since.”

“That is where you want us to go,” the Imposter said to Kamukura.

“You have said it yourself,” Kamukura said. “You cannot stay here.”

“So, we just betray our friends and shuttle them off to this deserted island,” the Imposter said. “This plan of yours seems awfully cold-hearted.”

“You have two choices,” Kamukura said. “Do nothing and watch as your friends slowly destroy themselves and wither away, or do something to prevent that fate.”

Kuzuryu swore under his breath. Kamukura knew he wanted to disagree out of spite, but human connections were a strong thing, stronger than the Yakuza’s pride.

Kuzuryu crossed his arms. “You two seem pretty buddy-buddy about this. Answer me this: why now? Why not fucking months ago if you care so much?”

“Because of you,” Kamukura said. “You wouldn’t have allowed it. Without you or Nevermind on my side, we cannot achieve what needs to be done.”

“They’re not going to come willingly,” Nidai said. “They’ll fight.”

“You command the Monokuma soldiers, do you not?” Kirigiri said to Kuzuryu. “They have an army, but you also have one _and_ Kamukura Izuru.”

Pekoyama said, “That’s why you needed Nevermind or the Young Master.”

“That is half of it,” Kamukura said.

“We can discuss that later,” Kirigiri said. “What we need to discuss now is whether you five are willing to help us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But the real question is did Kamukura remove a red contact, or put on a green one????
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> The five make their decision known.


	108. The Turning

The electric guitar echoed within the room like the wail of a newly-made widow. Dim red lights cast a sinister glow as Mioda glided across the stage. Her moving fingers were invisible to the audience and that was a good thing, for they knew they would grow dizzy from trying to track them. A pair of spotlights turned on. Then another, and another in a straight line that started from the edges of the stage and gradually moved closer to where Mioda stood in the middle. The Musician held her guitar above her head, waiting, and when the first beam of light struck, brought it down in a swing while squeezing out another deafening chord. Simultaneously, fire erupted in the background –

“ _Cut!_ ”

Koizumi groaned and rubbed her forehead. “Ibuki, you’re supposed to tell me if you’re going to have fire. I need to set up the shot differently for that.”

“But it’s still Ibuki, isn’t it?” Mioda said. “And fire just makes Ibuki even cooler.”

“Yes, but it completely changes the room’s lighting and . . .” Koizumi sighed. “Never mind. Just give me a minute to reconsider how to shoot this.”

“Okeydokey.” Mioda didn’t simply lie down; she literally stopped trying to keep herself upright and toppled onto her back. “Ibuki isn’t worried. She knows Mahiru-chan will make her the best album cover ever!”

“I will,” Koizumi said. “After I figure out how to frame this.”

Koizumi began fiddling with her tripod. She mouthed words to herself as she scanned the room, considering everything from colour tinting to shadows. Mioda hummed to herself. Then stopped.

“Do you hear that?” Mioda asked. “It’s stopped.”

“What has?” Koizumi asked absently as she adjusted the lens.

“Kazuichi-chan’s Monokuma factory.”

Koizumi froze. Listened. “That’s weird. Has he ever shut it off before?”

Mioda shook her head. Koizumi sucked in her lower lip. Anxiously, she looked downward, as if she could see through the floor to the room below.

“Let’s take a break,” Koizumi said. “I want to see what’s happening.”

They left their equipment where it lay. Mioda kept her eyes angled downward the whole way, like a fox tracking a mouse in the snow under its paws. Koizumi led the way, her strong strides carving a clear path to follow. But then, as she passed a window, her eyes caught something strange. She stopped abruptly, and Mioda crashed into her.

“Mahiru-chan?”

“Look out there.” Koizumi pointed at a van parked next to the building. “Who’s that?”

They watched as people filed out of the van. Even for Koizumi, it was hard to tell who they were at this height. Whomever they were though, they marched straight for the entrance and the soldiers _didn’t_ shoot.

Then, another person left that van and this time, Koizumi _knew_. She would recognize that long lilac hair from a mile away: Kirigiri Kyoko. Enoshima’s old classmate. Dog of the Future Foundation and one of Enoshima’s _murderers_.

She snarled and lamented her decision not to make a gun part of her regular outfit. “Ibuki, we have to go tell the others. Kirigiri Kyoko is here with others, and that can’t be good!”

The girls ran. Soda’s Monokuma factory was still the closest place they knew a classmate would be, so they headed there. That was the intention at least, but shortly after making the horrific discovery of _Kirigiri’s_ presence, they turned and found Kuzuryu and Pekoyama. Even better, there was a squad of soldiers behind them.

“Kuzuryu, we saw people from the Future Foundation outside!” Koizumi said as she ran towards him. She faced him at a funny angle that allowed her to point backwards, as if the window she had looked through was there. “Kirigiri’s there too. I bet they’re planning something. We need to sound the alarm and find out where Naegi is!”

Kuzuryu and Pekoyama had stopped moving when they had spotted Mioda and her. Kuzuryu raised his hand as if to signal to her to stop. But it was the soldiers who reacted by raising their guns.

Koizumi took a step back. “Kuzuryu. What’s going on?”

Mioda cocked her head. “What happened to your eye?”

Kuzuryu turned his fedora as if to hide that golden eye. Yet it was perfectly cold as he looked the two of them in the face and growled, “Get on the ground. Now.”

* * *

“The hell was that?”

Owari shouted that as she hurdled through the doorway, a walkie-talkie clenched in her fist. Not long ago she – well, probably everyone – had heard Soda’s panicked voice. He had claimed he was under attack and that the culprit was nothing other than their own army. That’s what she thought he said, at least. Soda blubbered a lot when he was upset, and walkie-talkies always had static and were annoying to listen to. The point was, however, that the world had gone nuts, and she was going to pound its face in until it made sense again!

Nidai was right behind her, serious-looking. Maybe she was right about the whole ‘Soda getting beaten up by his own army’ thing. Oh, she bet those dumb robots had finally gotten sick of him blowing them up.

“Do you believe what he was saying on there?” Owari said to Nidai. “I think Hanamura slipped him something again. I say we beat him up after -!”

No sooner than she had said that, did the building rumble. Dust poured from hidden places, making the air hazy. She and Nidai reacted the same way: taking a wide stance so they wouldn’t fall over.

When the shaking stopped, Owari said, “Hey, he’s not kidding about the being attacked by our own army thing.”

Anyone watching the two would have agreed that Owari was grinning much too widely for that last statement.

“Hell yeah! Another excuse to crack skulls. Not like we need one, but I barely ever get to crack skulls on our side. What do you say, Old Man? First one to fifty wins?”

“. . . Sorry, Akane. I’m not going to enjoy this.”

“Huh -?”

Being as big as he was, most people would assume Nidai was slow. They would be wrong. For as it turned out, at short distances, Nidai struck like a snake. And Owari was right next to him. He caught her mid-breath, arm sliding around her neck and _crushing_. She tried to wheeze – at least that’s what he thought the sudden tensing in her throat meant. However, his tight grip smothered all.

Owari had always been a wiry thing. Wiry and _vicious_. She didn’t cut her nails so much as she chewed them down, and that left ragged edges that sliced into Nidai’s flesh. He almost made the mistake of letting his other hand stray too close to her mouth and she lunged for it, teeth snapping like a frenzied zombie. Through it all, her eyes swirled blood-red. Not just from despair, but also from the blazing rage of betrayal.

His weight pressed against her, slowly forcing her to her knees. Even as her face took on a blueish tint, she wouldn’t stop fighting. He wanted to grab her arms and still her, but she was so skinny, and the sight of his thick arm around her boney neck already troubled him.

She was fading now. Her nails no longer cut him as she tried to pull his arm off.   He inhaled deeply even as she couldn’t, and closed his eyes just as a shadow appeared at the end of the hall.

Owari slammed her fists on the ground, attracting the figure’s attention. That made Nidai’s eyes snap open. He looked at whom stood there, at the person who was steadily approaching. He wasn’t sure how Owari was still conscious, but she was, and a sly grin slid onto her face. The figure was within arm’s reach now and he could feel Owari tense, ready to spring and attack once her captor lost his grip –

But the long needle jabbed into Owari’s neck instead and this time, Nidai did grab her arms to hold her steady. Tsumiki deployed the plunger and the syringe steadily pumped its sedative into Owari’s vein. Between that and the ongoing suffocation, even Kamukura wouldn’t have been able to last much longer. Owari gave no signs of falling until it happened, though. She fell limp in a second and that was it.

Tsumiki started to wail.

Nidai groaned, not sure how to handle his oversensitive classmate. “Hey, at least this way we know she isn’t getting up later and I won’t have to hit her. It’s a good thing!”

Tsumiki continued wailing.

“Will you stop that racket?”

Tsumiki stopped. She sniffed. She looked behind her and gave a start, as did Nidai. The Imposter was there as the voice suggested, but he was . . . off somehow. He spoke normally, and he acted normally, but his appearance . . . Ah! There was too much fat on his bones, that was it.

“Bwahaha! Looks like Hanamura’s weight-gain diet did wonders!” he said.

“. . . Is that cretin _still_ imitating me?”

Nidai blinked, not understanding, but Tsumiki did. She cried, “You’re the real one!”

“Of course, I am.” The _real_ Togami’s lip curled. “This Imposter is lucky there are no functional courts or the Togami Corporation would have sued him into oblivion.”

Out of principle, Nidai rushed to his classmate’s defence. “Nevermind would have the best lawyers in her country at his disposal.”

Togami smirked. “I would have the best lawyers in the world –”

“Please stop irritating them,” Kirigiri said as she came up behind him.

Togami scoffed. “Fine. But remember that after this mission, you’re no longer my boss.”

“But I am right now,” she said as she walked past him. Togami sniffed.

Tsumiki hissed under her breath. Nidai, despite knowing Kirigiri was an ally, still couldn’t suppress his own urge to hate her. Instead, his mind flashed with a vivid image of squeezing until her neck snapped.

“. . . Here’s another.” Kamukura, unseen until now, dropped an unconscious Hanamura next to Owari.

“Are you ready?” Kirigiri asked, looking back at the rest of her class.

“Fuck yeah!” Genocider said. “Me and my scissors are _dying_ to see action.”

“There will be no killing today,” Togami said in a monotone.

Genocider squealed. “Oh, if my darling master commands it!”

“Don’t worry, guys! There’s a 70% chance this is going to be fine!” Hagakure said. (“Remind me why he’s here,” Togami said to Kirigiri.)

“Let’s go kick some Ultimate Despair butt!” Asahina hollered.

“Right. Kamukura and myself will handle Komaeda Nagito and Nevermind Sonia. The rest of you are free to act as you feel best, but refrain from behaving rashly,” Kirigiri said.

“. . . What about Makoto?” Komaru said. “Who’s looking for him?”

“You can take that role if you would like,” Kamukura said. He unrolled a map from his pocket, circled one spot and made an x through the other. “This is our current location. Your brother is here.”

“Thank you,” Komaru said, smiling.

“Let’s get going,” Kirigiri said.

Tsumiki hesitated and watched Naegi’s sister run off. Nidai knew she wanted to join her, but she had already promised Kamukura to help in the fight. He grabbed her shoulder and urged her onwards, silently promising that they could check on Naegi later.

It didn’t take them long to find action. Kuzuryu’s rebellion was fully in place and they could hear the soldiers and robots fighting all over the place. That wasn’t their goal though. They wanted the true prize: the lingering members of Ultimate Despair. And it was one of them they found – Soda to be exact – breaking into the dining room.

“They’re crazy!” Soda yelped when they followed him. He was hiding under the table, a wrench in his hand. “I dunno what happened. Kamukura – told you we couldn’t trust him! – wrecked my workshop and he reprogrammed the soldiers or something cause they’re all shooting at me!”

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a warzone out there,” Nidai said. “Come on, get out of there. If you’re chicken, I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

“Who ya calling chicken?” Soda squawked. “I’m just . . . I’m not chicken!”

As expected, Soda started crawling out from under the table. Though the Mechanic could be short-tempered and could take quite the beating, he himself wasn’t too strong. Thus, Nidai wasn’t worried. If he could take on Owari, he could take on Soda.

“Why ain’t you out there fighting anyways?” Soda asked as he dusted himself off.

“We saw you running in here,” Nidai said. “Thought we’d make sure you were okay.”

“Okay. . .” Soda squinted. “Hey, what’s that needle for?”

Nidai turned. Tsumiki flinched. In her hand, she – very visibly – held a syringe loaded with another dose of sedative. When Nidai looked back, Soda was backing away.

“You know, you two have been acting weird for a while,” Soda said. “You ain’t . . . Uh, why don’t you look for the others? I got my Monokumas to protect me.”

Soda knew. Or at least he suspected. Neither was good and there was no longer a point in pretending. Tsumiki stayed by the exit as Nidai advanced. For each step he took, Soda took five frantic ones back. Soda hit the wall before Nida was halfway there.

“Y-you guys, get in here!” Soda cried.

Nidai expected another member of Despair to pop in. Instead, two large Monokumas smashed through the door connecting the dining room to the kitchen. Soda _dove_ between them.

“Override ally recognition!” Soda cried. He pointed a shaking finger. “Get him!”

Nidai laughed heartily. “Alright, bring it on!”

Huge claws slid out from the Monokumas’ paws.

“. . . Shit.”

He shoved Tsumiki back as the robots charged. They moved like a pack and shit, that was a lot of pointy things heading his way! He grabbed some trays – not one, but an entire stack – and brandished them as a shield. The first strike he dodged. The second had the claws smash into the trays. They didn’t penetrate all the way through, but the trays cracked down the center and crumbled once the claws slid out.

Nidai picked up a chair and smashed it into a Monokuma’s shoulder. He grabbed the arm of the other one as it raised it for a swing. The Monokuma tried to attack with its other arm, but Soda had never built much torsion into their chests and it couldn’t reach. With one hand on the elbow and one on the wrist, Nidai began to crank. The metal resisted his efforts, but he pushed and pushed and eventually, something inside gave way. The metal began to bend and with a bellow, Nidai threw his weight into it –

With a massive snap, the arm broke at the elbow. Jagged shards of metal separated, and sparks flew out of the new cracks. Nidai whooped, raising his arms in triumph –

The other Monokuma body-slammed him.

Tsumiki screamed as they slammed into the table. It held, barely, and then broke when the other Monokuma joined the dogpile. Shit, those robots were heavy! His ribs seemed to be bending under the pressure. The Monokumas stared at him. They didn’t seem to know what to do.

“. . . Yeah, Nidai and Tsumiki,” Soda was saying on his walkie-talkie. “I dunno what’s wrong with them, but they’re helping Kamukura. Huh? Kuzuryu and Pekoyama, too? What the hell, man! Are we being attacked by body-snatchers or something?”

Nidai grunted. The pile shifted and – shit, why did they keep moving? He gasped for breath as metal pressed down on his chest and abdomen. Why did they have to stock their base with a bunch of man-sized robots again?

“Hey, you stay back!”

Soda was shouting at Tsumiki, who had tried to sneak up on him with the sedative. Soda was wielding the wrench above his head and – that wasn’t good; Nidai had always hated seeing people like Tsumiki afraid. But the robots weren’t budging, at least not enough for him to get them off him. He had to say it: this was a shitty way to lose.

But perhaps it wasn’t over yet. He wasn’t sure why they came in – maybe it was Kamukura’s luck – but a trio of Monokuma soldiers came in and immediately raised their guns. Kuzuryu had known this battle was coming, so his soldiers had armour-piercing rounds. The first volley punched into the backs of the Monokumas. They didn’t seem to hit anything vital, but it was enough for the robots to focus on what they deemed the bigger threat.

To their disadvantage, of course. The bad, and good thing about robots like these was they could only focus on one thing at a time. When they chose the soldiers as the greatest threat, Nidai was all but forgotten. Soda did not forget of course, and he was screaming at his robots, but by the time they worked out the bugs in their mind and turned around, Nidai was standing. The soldiers did not shoot; they could not with Nidai behind the robots. Nidai didn’t need them though. Being pinned on the ground had got his blood going and he was _ready_.

“Hey, Tsumiki! You better find something to hide behind. I just finished warming up.”

* * *

“Watch out!”

Hagakure glanced in the direction Asahina indicated, then screeched a very manly screech. Thankfully, Hagakure’s first instinct when danger struck had always been to duck and cover. The claws – fingernails? – slashed through the air above him. His attacker’s whole body travelled through that space as well, and Tanaka Gundham landed in a crouch nearby. He growled, trying to frighten them into submission and . . . well, it was working on Hagakure!

“Oh, shut up you Naegi kidnapper!” Asahina snapped. She took a fighting stance of her own, fists raised. Hagakure tried to hide behind her.

Still crouched, Tanaka turned around to face her. His scarf swayed with the movement, like a cat’s swishing tail. Asahina wished she had a weapon.

Tanaka charged. He ran on all fours like an animal, capping it off with a hop at the end right before he sprung. Asahina would have moved out of the way, but Hagakure was still right behind him and _god_ why did they even bring him. . .?

She heard something behind them. She didn’t even have time to turn around before a blur whizzed past her. She didn’t see the collision – it happened too fast – but she heard it. Tanaka slammed to a halt midair, and collapsed in a spastic pile of limbs. The newcomer had also fallen, but Asahina was able to get a good look.

“ _What the hell?_ ”

“E-evil twin!” Hagakure shrieked.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Asahina shouted.

The way-too-skinny person who looked like Asahina shrugged.

“You’re a jerk. You’re all jerks!” Asahina said.

Hagakure whispered into her ear. “So, uh, which one of you is the evil twin again?”

“That one!” Asahina said.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m on your side,” the Imposter said as she struggled to her feet. “I –”

That was when Tanaka pounced on the Imposter’s back.

Hagakure shrieked. “Let’s get out of here!”

He started to run, but Asahina grabbed his sweater and held him fast. She didn’t say anything; her face said enough.

Tanaka had his arms hooked around the Imposter, like a snake constricting its prey. He didn’t intend on letting go, but if swimming had done anything, it had made Asahina strong. Tanaka was also strong, very strong, but she who had trained with Oogami Sakura was better. Between her and the Imposter, they forced Tanaka off and slammed him to the ground.

“Awesome! Good job, team.” Hagakure said.

They, even Tanaka, glared at him.

* * *

What a dump. Honestly, didn’t the former richest teen in Japan (save for himself, of course) live here? Not to mention, there was a Yakuza heir and royalty living in these walls. Yet, Togami used to own _servant quarters_ more impressive than this eyesore. Brush marks. He could see _brush marks_ on the wall. What, had they used slave labour – and incompetent slave labour at that! – for painting?

Kirigiri had claimed these louts engaged in bizarre activities for their own despair. Perhaps that was why the paint job was horrendous; _he_ would certainly have obtained despair from this. It made him shudder to imagine himself so corrupt that he would sanction these surroundings. This wasn’t his building however, so he kept his mouth shut and didn’t say anything when Genocider dragged her scissors across the wall and left highly visible tracks.

“Why do the soldiers have to be on our side?” the Serial Killer griped. “I wanted to hear screaming. Robots don’t even bleed when you stab ‘em.”

“Don’t they explode if you hit them properly?” Togami said. Genocider considered that, then started laughing.

She was still laughing when Togami ploughed on ahead. He peeked inside one door and when nothing charged him, moved onto the next. He must say, although he couldn’t begrudge Kirigiri on her success in making this operation possible in the first place, she could have done better on the planning. In their larger buildings, it was customary for the Togami Corporation to either provide new employees with a map or have signs near the elevators. And those were simple buildings that just happened to be very tall, not a sprawling one like this war base where the missing Despairs could be anywhere.

It may have also helped them avoid the hostile robots lurking about. They were many, even more numerous than the soldiers assisting them. He got Genocider to take care of them, something she took to swimmingly. He himself had even stepped in with his Megaphone; he had the wrinkled clothes to prove it.

But really, back to the important stuff, this place was a dump. Thank goodness Kirigiri wasn’t asking them to settle here afterwards. The place she had suggested was much more suitable; in fact, he had been to Jabberwock island in his youth. Certainly, it wasn’t the fanciest of resorts, but the things he had seen in the apocalypse had made him much less demanding when it came to accommodation.

This place was a dump. Which was why it was ironic that in his disgusting, filthy place. . .

Togami Byakuya fell in love.

How could he not? Being as cautious and primed as he was, his first instinct was to point his Megaphone at her. But then her ambience hit him like a tank. He was in love. This woman was god-touched and Togami, who had seen some of the world’s most beautiful women in person, had never seen anyone close to the woman he saw now. Not god-touched then, but a being completely superior to man.

She was a spirit. A spirit of beauty, or of wind because how could he explain the sway to her hips or the way her dress wrapped around her? Or perhaps neither; she was the sun’s manifestation because that yellow in her hair didn’t exist on earth.

Somehow, though he was unworthy, she saw him. She smiled at him – the universe burst into song. She was approaching. He raised his arms and bared himself to the goddess, unable to do anything but pray she would –

“ _Oh, no you don’t!_ ”

Genocider exploded past him and – her scissors were out? What was that lunatic thinking? He cried out, but Genocider was already leaping. Her filthy, mortal self crashed into his goddess and slammed her into the ground. Genocider touched her – _touched_ her – and her tongue curled into the air as she ripped something away from the goddess and held it high –

A knife?

Togami blinked. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“That’ll teach you not to sway your hips at _my_ master, you bimbo!”

Togami blinked again. He squinted.

The woman – his _attempted killer’s_ – eyes were red.

“Eww! Get off me, you creep!” Saionji Hiyoko cried.

Genocider looked back at Togami, waiting.

“. . . You will never tell anyone about this,” he said to Genocider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> The team attempts to deal with the most dangerous Despairs.
> 
> edit: Just to be clear, Saionji was using hypnotic powers in the last scene.


	109. The Revolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to completely rewrite the last section of this chapter at the last moment. Hopefully, it doesn't show.

“ _Come no closer!_ ”

Guns locked and loaded, Nevermind’s soldiers pointed them at Kamukura. Kamukura drifted to a stop, and raised his hands to his shoulders in surrender. His eyes roved lazily around the room, taking in trajectories and angles and event chains. Yes. If it came down to violence, he could handle this. Though if he handled this correctly, he wouldn’t have to.

“Why are you threatening me?” Kamukura asked.

He didn’t mean to threaten them, but seeing how they backed up quickly, they obviously assumed he did. He couldn’t blame them; no doubt word of his talents had trickled down the grapevine. Nevermind’s people, primed and proactive when it came to flushing out threats, would have paid special attention to anything they might had heard about him.

“The building is under siege!” Nevermind’s favourite officer, Phillip, announced. “The Queen’s chambers are under lockdown until the situation is resolved.”

“I am not here to harm your Queen,” Kamukura said.

“Then you will turn around and leave,” Phillip said. “We are authorized to use lethal force. Should you remain, we will exercise that right.”

“Why?”

The man spluttered, as if personally insulted by his question. “For what else but the protection and persistence of our monarch and kingdom?”

“I can think of different reasons,” Kamukura said calmly.

There were many shouts then. Many shouts and brandishing of weapons. Kamukura didn’t move, knowing they wouldn’t shoot without an order.

“Are you truly doing this for your Queen?” Kamukura asked. “Or for your country?”

“What other reason would there be?” Phillip said.

Kamukura smiled emotionlessly. “It’s quite simple, isn’t it? Hasn’t every tyrant had loyal men behind them? Were all of them motivated by loyalty to the crown? Power . . . it is a very potent lure, isn’t it?”

“You _dare_?” Phillip demanded, so angry that his quivering arm couldn’t hold the gun straight.

“You claim loyalty to your Queen and country. You swear fealty to the welfare of your people. Yet the last I checked, Novoselic was in a state of anarchy.”

“Our kingdom has never been stronger,” Phillip said. “Novoselic holds more territory than ever before in its history. Novoselic has never held as much power and prestige as it does now.”

“Your country is a wasteland that’s been burnt to the ground several times over. Your rivers run thick with poison and corpses. Your forests are naught but stumps, recycled to fuel your war machine. Your air is filled with the same poison that you use to destroy your enemies.”

“The old kingdom, yes,” Phillip said. “But we have new lands to replace them. Our coffers run thick with gold.”

“ _Yours_ do,” Kamukura said. “Your farmers starve in their fields when the armies plunder their stocks. Your children wear stained clothes because all cloth goes to your troops. There are no such things as vacations, or decorations or luxuries because the common people cannot afford it.”

“Our people live a blessed light!” Phillip shouted, face red. “They live sheltered from fear and war. Our armies had squashed all threats to the crown. There are no more external influences, or trade wars or foreign government and their clever schemes –”

“Your kingdom is built on a bed of corpses from your never-ending war,” Kamukura said, voice rising ever so slightly. “Your intellectuals and journalists rot at the bottom of those pits. Your cities are barren of wildlife because they have all been eaten. Your people bribe prison guards for the bodies of the inmates so they have food to put on the table. You do not fight for your country, unless what you desire is a kingdom of skeletons.”

“No more!” Phillip shouted, arm swiping through the arm. “Speak again, and I will tell my men to shoot.”

“No, you won’t,” Kamukura said, and he knew it to be true. “You are a loyal man, and that is why you will listen to me.”

Phillip trembled. The battle in the officer’s mind played out on his body in twitches and quivers.

“. . . You’ve known the Queen her entire life,” Kamukura said.

“I have.” Phillip raised his chin proudly.

Kamukura stared at him. “If I were you, I would be ashamed to admit that.”

The man’s face started to grow purple. More than anything said so far, Kamukura knew that line had angered him. He needed to speak quickly.

“You’ve known her as a child, as a teenager and as an adult. It shocks me then that you have been so willfully blind to the obvious. Your Queen isn’t here. Your Queen is not a monster who puts her own blood to the sword. Does the princess you remember strike you as one who could take a stroll within your deathcamps and smile? You know as well as I.” With his chin, he gestured to the door the soldiers guarded. “The woman who lays within there . . . That is not Sonia Nevermind.”

Phillip’s neck tensed. “I have sworn fealty to her highness.”

Kamukura stepped forward. The crowd tensed, but Phillip did not give the order to fire. “I told you I was not here to hurt your Queen. I am here to _save_ her.”

Kamukura stepped back, surveyed those who watched him.

“You have a choice to make,” Kamukura said. “Whom is it you really serve: Sonia Nevermind, or Junko Enoshima?”

* * *

The door opened. The Queen barely reacted to the intrusion. By the window was a small alcove and on that, she sat, framed in light. Curtains covered most of the window, funneling the sun through the little gap in the center. A tray was on the cushion next to her. Pastries were upon that and a half-empty cup of tea. Kamukura stepped forward. Nevermind’s reaction was only to take one of those pastries and nibble at it.

“You’ve gotten past my guards,” Nevermind said.

Kamukura stayed where he was, waiting. “Despair is unpredictable. Although I would win in a fight, I believe it prudent to restrain you.”

“Oh?” Nevermind looked at him casually, eyes lingering on the handcuffs at his waist in a manner one might mistake for curiosity. “Is that what you believe?”

He unclipped the handcuffs, letting it hang off his finger by the chain. “I do.”

Nevermind simply watched him as he strode forward. She sighed, as if tired, and turned to look at the window.

“The walls are thin here,” Nevermind said. “I heard what you said to them. You’re quite the speaker. Is that my own talent I heard out there?”

“Among others,” he said.

He was right behind her, but did not move any further. Nevermind nodded to herself as she digested his answer, as if it meant something special. She nibbled at her pastry.

“I had warning,” she said suddenly. “Makoto made a bet with me. I lost, although I do not think he ever figured that out. I knew though that Phillip was not as blindly devoted as he pretended. I should have executed him before you exploited that. You wouldn’t be standing here if I had.”

Kamukura didn’t answer.

“Or perhaps you would be.” Nevermind turned at the waist. “I honestly did believe he was loyal to the crown. That’s why I chose him. That he turned out to be a traitor. . . I can only imagine what the rest of them were hiding. . . But I already know, don’t I?”

Her laughter was delicate, like birdsong; but her eyes swirled a deep red. “They let you through. Not one of them were willing to die to protect their Queen. How despairing that a country with such a proud heritage would produce so many cowards.”

“Are they cowards?” Kamukura asked. “Was it truly cowardly to turn their back on their lives, on everything you have given them?”

Nevermind laughed and turned back to the window. Kamukura carefully grabbed her wrist. She twitched, but otherwise let it lie limp.

“You will not fight me?” Kamukura said.

“The time for fighting has passed,” she said. “Queens and tyrants may both rule from a throne, but there is an important distinction. The tyrant does as they please. The Queen listens to the will and needs of her country.”

Nevermind turned again. Although her eyes swirled, the smile she gave him was both sad and relived.

“My people . . . they have already spoken.”

Kamukura led her away with a hand on her shoulder. Nevermind, even with her wrists locked together behind her back, walked confidently, as if the handcuffs were merely her choice of a fashion accessory. They left her room and entered the one where her officers still lingered. Together, they lowered their heads, ashamed to look their monarch in the face. Nevermind did not look their way. She, the queen on the way to the guillotine, kept her eyes fixed ahead until Kamukura closed the door on the remnants of Novoselic’s old government.

“Queen Nevermind,” Kirigiri greeted. Kamukura saw her trying to perform the same kind of character scan he and Enoshima were capable of.

Nevermind blinked. “. . . Oh.”

In that single word, Kamukura witnessed a blinding hatred. The same hatred that had consumed every member of Despair – current or former – upon seeing the Ultimate Detective: the one who had murdered their once-god and whose memory had kept stealing Naegi away from them. Nevermind kept her emotions under enough control that normal people shouldn’t have noticed, but seeing as every other member of Despair had reacted the same way, Kirigiri would have guessed the Queen’s true feelings.

“There’s only one other member of Ultimate Despair unaccounted for,” Kirigiri said. “Komaeda Nagito.”

“It may be for the best,” Kamukura said. “Komaeda’s erratic and difficult to handle.”

“There is one other thing,” Kirigiri said. “While you were retrieving Nevermind Sonia, Naegi’s sister reported in. She was unable to locate him.”

His grip on Nevermind tightened. “He should have been in my room. It locks from the inside. Something unlucky must have happened to move him from there. With his luck, there is only one place I would expect him to be.”

Kirigiri’s face tightened with unease. “You mean . . .”

“I do.”

* * *

The soldier’s boots thundered down the hall. Naegi huddled into the corner, head hidden under his arms. Komaeda’s heat pressed against him, pushing him further into the wall. The Luckster’s body was coiled tight, like a growling animal ready to threaten those who dare strike out at his master.

“Come on!” With no other warning, Komaeda yanked hard on his arm, forcing Naegi to his feet. He frogmarched Naegi to their next hidey-hole and Naegi didn’t fight, of course. Naegi didn’t know why the Monokumas and soldiers had started fighting each other, but Komaeda was smart. Komaeda knew what to do.

He smiled to himself. He’d seen this in movies, hadn’t he? Those cliché movies where two people were at each other’s throats until a dire situation forced them to work together and they became friends. Well, thank goodness for clichés then! He must be having some good luck today because this was the first time Komaeda had _touched_ him since their breakup. Now, here they were, ducking from shadow to shadow like a pair of thieves. Komaeda was pulling him – mostly by his upper arm or by his shirt’s collar – but sometimes he touched lower and it was like they were holding hands.

Komaeda cursed. His walkie-talkie bounced across the ground. “It’s only traitors on there now.”

Naegi swallowed. “Why would they do this? I thought everyone was friends.”

“I don’t really know what’s going on either, but you heard Soda-kun,” Komaeda said. “Some of them are traitors, and I have no idea how many there are.”

Yes, he had heard. It was so hard to believe. Nidai . . . Well, he had said some strange things to Naegi before. But Mikan? It was impossible to picture dear, sweet Mikan as a traitor. But Komaeda was insisting what Soda said was true, so she was a traitor . . . He bet it was the Imposter! That would make way more sense.

Komaeda’s eyes closed. His pam laid against his forehead. Deep in thought, he was. That meant he wasn’t paying close attention to Naegi right now, and Naegi grinned giddily upon realizing that. He shuffled closer, as close as he could get without knocking their knees together. He pressed his shoulder into Komaeda’s body, as if he were huddling against him out of fear.

Naegi wasn’t sure how long they stayed together like that. Then, Komaeda clamped down on his arm so tightly Naegi knew it would leave bruises. He was unforgiving as he pulled Naegi _somewhere_ and just as rough when he shoved Naegi against a wall and held him there.

An electric shiver ran down his spine. Naegi had seen this cliché in movies, too. Komaeda looked left, then right – that was because he was making sure they had privacy, right?

“You know why this is happening, don’t you, Naegi-kun?”

Naegi smacked his lips. “I do . . . don’t?”

Komaeda spared him a glance. “It’s you. They’re here for you. To take you away.”

“O—oh. But you guys aren’t going to let them, right?” Naegi said hopefully, pulling at Komaeda’s sleeve.

Komaeda ignored him. “This is how it ends. Of _course,_ it is. All for nothing. It always ends like this.”

“Komaeda-kun? You won’t let them take me, right?”

“Do you want them to take you?’ Komaeda asked, gaze so intense Naegi’s stomach flipped over in fear.

“No!” Naegi said. He cuddled into Komaeda’s side like a scared kid. They were always nicer to him when he did that.

Komaeda’s stare didn’t change. He didn’t speak. But his knuckles brushed against Naegi’s cheek and his breath caught.

“Naegi-kun . . . I think you should take this.”

Naegi looked down at what Komaeda was offering him. His eyes widened.

“B-but . . .”

“You don’t want them to take you, right?” Komaeda growled.

“Y-yes.” Naegi hurriedly took the pistol. He could always . . . just not use it.

They travelled further into the building’s depths, where the fighting was thinner. While Komaeda was indisputably the guide, he kept Naegi slightly in front of him, shadowing him like a bodyguard.

“Stay here.” Komaeda suddenly ordered. He didn’t wait to see if Naegi obeyed before scuttling ahead and out of sight. Naegi obeyed, of course. He tried not to think about the fighting he had seen, or his friends, or how cold and alone he was.

It was only ten minutes, but it felt like Komaeda was gone _forever._ Naegi rushed forward the moment he saw that mop of hair, throwing himself into Komaeda’s not-quite-waiting arms.

That’s when the smell hit him.

“You’re hurt!” Naegi gasped. He ripped away from Komaeda, afraid of making the wound worse.

“None of this blood is mine,” Komaeda said. He tried to wipe it off his cheek.

“Was it one of the traitors?” Naegi asked, stomach stinking. Okay, so maybe some of his friends had turned on Ultimate Despair, but that didn’t mean they should get hurt. His friends were all good people; there must have been a reason for it. There must be a way to talk to them and bring them back to their senses.

“No, it wasn’t anyone in Ultimate Despair. Or who had once been a member of Ultimate Despair. It was no one important.”

“Was it a soldier or a Monokuma?” Naegi asked.

Komaeda shrugged. “Nah. Just your sister.”

Naegi stumbled back.

“You mean the Imposter, right?” Naegi said. “Komaru isn’t here. She’s with the Future Foundation. I don’t know why he dressed up as her, but that was a really poor choice.”

Komaeda laughed. He squeezed Naegi’s shoulder. “Oh, Naegi-kun. I wouldn’t have killed her if I wasn’t absolutely sure it was your sister.”

He almost didn’t catch what Komaeda said because the tone was so polite. Because no one should be able to say that without an evil cackle. No one should be able to say that without a vampiric grin. It was a written law, one of the backbones of the world, and Komaeda had broken it.

His legs gave in. The ground slid out from under him. Komaeda watched him fall. He’d seen Komaru in Kirigiri’s video just a week ago. Now she was . . . The apocalypse had come and gone, they had both survived it, and he would never see her again.

“She was walking in the opposite direction, you know,” Komaeda said.

“What?” he whispered. “Then why . . .?”

Komaeda shrugged. “Because I wanted to.”

Naegi looked up slowly. He was dreaming, right? This couldn’t be real. His sister was alive – she couldn’t have died like this! Komaeda. . . Komaeda wouldn’t do that. Komaeda was good. He wouldn’t have done something like this.

All Naegi’s frantic head shaking did was make Komaeda laugh. “Come on, Naegi-kun. You can’t really be surprised by this. Why shouldn’t I? Why should she get a happy ending?”

Naegi started to get up. To scream, to cry, to fight, he didn’t know why. But Komaeda shoved him hard enough that he fell onto his side.

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Komaeda asked with mocking sympathy. “I guess this is time for you to grow up. You’re the only one crying about this. No one else is going to care that another waste of space has been cleansed from this planet. Would you care if she hadn’t been your sister?”

“Stop it,” he choked.

Frustration shone in Komaeda’s eyes. He grabbed Naegi and forced him to his feet.

“Komaeda-kun!”

“We’re going!” Komaeda snapped.

This time though, Naegi resisted. “No!”

“You said you didn’t want me to let them take you.” Komaeda’s smile was sickly sweet. “That’s what I’m doing. I’m only doing what you want.”

“I didn’t know it was my friends! I didn’t know Komaru was here!” He teared up as it hit him. This was his fault. He gave the command. _He told Komaeda to kill his sister._ “I changed my mind.”

“Naegi-kun.” Komaeda gave him a bored look. “I don’t care about what you want. I never did.”

Komaeda’s punishing grip wasn’t loosening. Naegi could see the evil smile now; it was like Komaeda wasn’t bothering to hide it. And though Naegi didn’t know where his friends were, didn’t know if they were hiding behind the corner, he still knew that as Komaeda pulled him away, the distance increased between him and his sister bleeding on the floor somewhere. . .

“Let go of me!” He clawed at Komaeda’s hand. Komaeda wasn’t letting go and . . .

The gun was uncomfortable in his shaking hand.

Komaeda did release him, but that was all. He was still smirking when Naegi took a step back, and pointed the gun at Komaeda’s chest.

“Now what, Naegi-kun?” Komaeda purred. “We both know there’s only one way this can end. If you don’t do it now. . . I’m not going to stop. I won’t ever stop. Someday, my luck will kick in and we’ll be back here, and whomever was with you at the time will be dead. Honestly, I’m looking forward to it. Killing your sister gave me such a thrill –”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

“. . . I can only imagine how wonderful it will be when you only have one person left in the world, and I kill them too,” Komaeda said with a chuckle.

“ _Stop it!_ ” Naegi said, voice shaking.

“You’ll never be free of me,” Komaeda said. “I’ll come back again and again, and there’s nothing your friends can do to stop me. You think you’re scared of me now? Wait and see how you feel when I’m through with them.”

 _“SHUT UP!_ ”

Komaeda grinned. “You can’t do it. You’re too weak. You always were. Just like your sister.”

Naegi clicked the safety off.

Komaeda glanced at the gun, at where Naegi was aiming. His eyes were blank as he pointed at his own forehead. “ _Here_ , Naegi-kun.”

Naegi stared down the gun’s muzzle. On its own, as if Komaeda’s brain had directly linked to his body, his arm moved up until his gun pointed at Komaeda’s head. He breathed. It was almost over. He could end the nightmare here. Komaeda, who had kidnapped him, who had hurt his sister and would never ever stop. . . This time though, Naegi held the gun, both metaphorically and literally. For the first time in months, he truly felt _safe_.

He could end this right now. Nobody would blame him. They would have killed Komaeda for less. Ultimate Despair were murderers and the Future Foundation were murderers and his friends were murderers . . . they would understand. He had to do it. For self-defence. To protect them. To save the world.

But if he pulled the trigger . . . Komaeda would be dead.

Komaeda spoke softly. “It’s alright, Naegi-kun. You know what you need to do.”

Naegi’s knees buckled. This wasn’t about him. His thoughts on this didn’t matter. This was about his sister, his friends, the _world_. It didn’t matter if it would hurt him. He needed to think about the good of the world. That’s what Hope did. Hope put the world first. The world had outgrown Komaeda and his teachings, Komaeda and his despair. It needed to move on. As did he.

“Naegi-kun, pull the trigger.”

He grabbed the gun with both hands to steady it. It must be this way. It must be. It was hardly murder.

It would be _justice_.

“No . . .” he whispered.

This is what she did, wasn’t it? Turned friend against friend, brother against brother. This is what she had done to his classmates. This was what she would have wanted. This world she had created, one of despair and endless bloodshed, this was what it would want.

There must be another way. He didn’t know what it was, but he would find it. The bloodshed stopped here.

Enoshima ended here.

He lowered the gun. “Kirigiri-san will decide what to do with you, but I’m not sure I can promise that she won’t kill you.”

“Naegi-kun?”

“I’m going to find my friends,” Naegi said firmly. “I’m . . . I’m going to go take care of my sister. Goodbye, Komaeda-kun.”

Naegi turned to leave –

Komaeda sprung forward. He grabbed Naegi’s wrist, the one still holding the gun, and wrenched it around until it pointed straight at Komaeda’s own head –

 _Click_.

 _Click. Click_. Komaeda kept jamming that trigger. His pupils widened a little more with each empty sound.

“It . . . jammed?” Even Komaeda’s voice sounded empty. “Of course, it jammed. It _always_ jams. It’s always _like this!_ ”

He tore the gun out of Naegi’s hand and threw it. When it hit the ground, it went off. Komaeda just laughed. He sunk to his knees, fell against the wall, and laughed. Naegi could see the blood splatter on his cheeks, along his hoodie’s sleeve. . .

“Komaeda-kun, you never said how you killed my sister,” Naegi said.

“. . . Stabbed her,” he said, shrugging with one shoulder.

“. . . That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Naegi said. “Not with how the blood splashed on you. Especially on your face. It looks _smeared_.”

Komaeda breathed heavily.

“It’s your blood, isn’t it?” Naegi said. “You never even saw my sister.”

Komaeda clapped slowly. “Well done. Looks like those trials weren’t just for show. You’re right: I didn’t.”

“You’re terrible,” Naegi said.

“I am.” Komaeda’s teeth seemed to glow in the dark. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. Congratulations, you won. You beat me. So, get out of here.”

“What about you?” Naegi asked. “What are you going to do?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Komaeda lifted a hand, then let it fall to the floor again. “If what they’re saying is true, if your friends are here and Tsumiki-san and Kamukura-kun are on the traitors’ side, I know what’s going on. Your friends came through for you after all.”

“Komaeda-kun . . .”

“The funny thing about hope is – no matter how wonderful it seems – it gives people these strange delusions. I know what they’re hoping for: they’re hoping they can scoop up all your poor brainwashed friends, scrub their brains clean and act as though nothing bad ever happened. But even if I thought that could work, I’m not like them.” Komaeda slowly turned his head. “I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn’t need a video telling me what to do. I hurt you because it made me feel good. Because I _wanted_ to.”

Naegi’s throat itched. “Your lessons were horrible, but . . .”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Komaeda asked with something like a sigh. “I didn’t care about making the world’s Ultimate Hope. That was just another one of those hopeful delusions, and even at my worst, I was ready to watch the world burn if I thought I honestly had to share you with them. You don’t know me very well, Naegi-kun. If you did, you would have shot me.”

Naegi, for all his hope and words and speeches, couldn’t find anything to say to _this_. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising. His mind always seemed to break when faced with Komaeda.

Staring straight ahead at the opposite wall, Komaeda spoke softly. “It’s not too late. My luck will never release me, but yours? If anyone can do it, you can. You’ll get to sleep knowing the monster in the closet is gone. You don’t need to worry about what bodies Komaeda’s going to drag out this time, or what terrible thing happens the next time he inevitably snaps. You know they won’t blame you. Even if they know, they’ll blame it on friendly fire. Can’t have them breaking poor Naegi more than Komaeda already has.”

“I can’t,” Naegi said, backing away from Komaeda, from the gun. “I can’t.”

Komaeda took a moment to speak. “No, you can’t. Not anymore. You already know I lied about her. Seeing her alive wouldn’t give you enough hope to drown out the despair of my death.”

“I don’t understand,” Naegi said. “Why are you saying this? What do you want?”

“Are we talking about right now or the past?” Komaeda asked before answering his own question. “It’s both. I guess . . . After everything I’ve done to you, I doubt you could understand my motives anymore. . . Or maybe you could. You just wouldn’t get why I’m a monster.”

Naegi stepped forward. “You’re not –”

But Komaeda flinched as if he had been struck. “Didn’t you say you were going to find your friends? _Go_ , Naegi-kun.”

“But . . .”

Komaeda snarled. “ _That’s_ _an order._ ”

Naegi instinctively took a step back. Unease slipped over him, and he fought a shudder as he looked away. Komaeda picked himself up in the meantime, and began trudging down the hall away from Naegi. His juddering footsteps filled the silence.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” Naegi asked.

Komaeda stilled for a second, then kept walking.

And Naegi followed. “You waited until the last second to try to make me . . . do things to you. You kept going until there were only ‘traitors’ left and you knew things were going to change. That change is what frightens you. Whatever my friends have planned, you’re worried about how it’s going to turn out.”

“I’m not scared,” Komaeda said without turning around.

“You’re scared it won’t work,” Naegi said. “You said it yourself: snapping is inevitable. You’re scared of what you’ll do when that happens, what that means for _me_. You’re scared of yourself –”

“I’m not scared . . . _Look at me!_ ” Finally, Komaeda was facing him, bloodshot eyes and all. “Do you understand? I’m not brainwashed. I can’t be magically cured because someone was nice to me or . . . or whatever you did for Nidai-kun. The only thing I’m good for is destroying everything. That’s my true talent. It’s what I _do_. _You can’t save me!_ ”

Komaeda was gripping his shoulders, nearly foaming at the mouth as he shouted into Naegi’s face. Hot, humid breath slapped him in the face. Komaeda’s shaking arm lacked the strength to remain as they were, and fingers trailed down Naegi’s side until Komaeda’s arms were back at his side.

“Togami-kun said I was an idiot,” Naegi said, “when he learned I had lied for Kirigiri-san in the fifth trial. He said if I was wrong, I would have gotten us all killed. But I don’t regret it. I’ll never regret what I did there.”

Komaeda said nothing. He didn’t seem sure about what point Naegi was trying to make.

“Lots of people have called me a fool,” Naegi said. “Kamukura-kun always lambasted me for pushing buttons he didn’t think I should have. Kuzuryu-kun thought I was an idiot for always trying to get away. But if I hadn’t have done that . . . If I hadn’t pushed people like Mikan or shown Alter Ego a way past the guards, none of this would be happening right now. But that’s the true nature of Hope, isn’t it? You do illogical things, not because you knew they would work, but because you _make_ them work.”

“That’s not . . .” Komaeda licked his lips and shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

“No, that’s wrong,” Naegi said lightly. “This is just another impossible task, isn’t it? Like beating Enoshima was. You owe it to me to try, don’t you?”

Komaeda shuddered. “I don’t deserve it.”

Naegi didn’t falter. “That isn’t your decision to make.”

Komaeda closed his eyes. His head tilted back, as if he were praying to the gods above.

Naegi extended his hand. “Komaeda-kun, _please_.”

Komaeda opened his eyes. He stared at that offered hand.

He reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> It's actually the end this time, I swear!


	110. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: Clarification: THERE IS NO NEOWORLD PROGRAM! They're not going into any computer simulation whatsoever. They're just chilling on a tropical island.

“How widespread is the knowledge of the upcoming broadcast?”

“It’s not good,” Yukizome said. “Even though they didn’t have much time to prepare, Ultimate Despair is clearly doing their best to ensure as much of the world will be tuned in as possible.”

Munakata nodded, not breaking stride. “Have we any success on blocking the signal?”

“No,” Yukizome said. “I’m not sure how, but they’re using some signal that is bypassing our blockers.”

His mouth set in a grim line, Munakata strode forward. This could only be another attack on morale, and a massive one at that given that it came so close to Ultimate Despair’s _last_ public announcement. To say these last couple of weeks had been unfavourable was a tremendous understatement; the organization’s morale was at its lowest since the immediate months following Ultimate Despair’s apocalypse. Once again, it was Naegi Makoto’s fault. The boy who held the world in his palm . . . and didn’t even seem to acknowledge that. It was vexing, watching him be so careless with his words. And unfortunately, it appeared Ultimate Despair had finally figured out how to use him.

The other Division Heads were waiting when they arrived in the conference room. The room burst into noise. Most were questions regarding the upcoming broadcast. Munakata waited until they fell silent.

“I trust you have contacted your subordinates and ordered them _not_ to watch the broadcast,” Munakata said. “Our efforts to block the signal have been unsuccessful.”

“Have we any idea of what they are planning?” Kizakura asked.

“No,” Munakata said.

The anxiety was palpable. Mitarai, fidgeting and hunched over, shakily raised his hand.

“M-maybe it’s best if we don’t watch it,” he said. “If we don’t know what’s on it . . .”

Sakakura raised an eyebrow. “You chickening out?”

Mitarai flinched. “No, but . . .”

“You have your orders, kid. I expect you to follow them,” Sakakura grunted.

“This is very sudden when compared to their usual patterns,” Gekkougahara said. “Something important has happened.”

“Something game-changing, no doubt,” Kizakura said. “Whatever it is, it sounds like we’re in for a rough ride.”

Munakata took his seat at the end of the table. To his left was Sakakura, and Yukizome took the seat to his right. On the other end of the table, Tengan waited with his hands folded on the table. Mitarai and the Great Gozu were next to him. The others sat scattered around the table, with Ando and Izayoi together, of course. Chairs turned to face the full-wall TV as Munakata turned it on.

The screen was grey. He checked his watch. Two minutes until Ultimate Despair’s announcement. He drummed his fingers impatiently. There was an unexpected pressure on his wrist as Yukizome reached over and squeezed.

“Do you seriously have no idea what’s going on?” Ando asked.

Munakata turned his head just the barest amount, not wanting her to believe he was giving her any more attention than required. Ando Ruruka was another case of a child trying to take on the responsibilities of an adult. Certainly, she thought she had the brains of an adult; even though she was quite vocal about her dislikes, she was somehow under the impression that no one knew she was thinking about starting her own organization.

“I’m afraid not,” Yukizome said.

“You should get better connections,” Ando snapped.

Both Munakata and Yukizome were known for their self-control. Sakakura, on the other hand. . . Munakata could see him stirring, like a grizzly woken from a nap. Luckily, Tengan saw it as well.

Tengan said, “All of us are deeply worried about what we will be seeing.”

The Confectioner scowled, and then slipped a sweet to her pet. “Where’s Kirigiri?”

“. . . We don’t know,” Munakata admitted.

The television burst into life.

They recognized the stage and backdrop Ultimate Despair used in their other announcements. On the stage was a podium and microphone with no one behind it, and behind sprawled a giant curtain embellished with the blazing red logo of Ultimate Despair. Ten seconds passed, and then Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko entered from the side. He stepped onto the podium, lowered the microphone to its shortest setting, and adjusted his tie.

“Uh, hi,” he said into the microphone. “You’re going to be waiting a couple of minutes so everyone else can tune in. I want to make sure everyone hears this.”

Munakata and Yukizome exchanged looks. This was unusual. Usually, Kuzuryu would fly right into his speech regardless of whether all his target audience had tuned in. Munakata leaned in and watched the Ultimate Yakuza closely. Obviously, Kuzuryu knew this was unusual, too. He kept looking off to the side, presumably at his comrades. He was noticeably shifting his weight around too, restless.

“He’s nervous,” Gekkougahara said. “Whatever’s happened, it isn’t entirely good for them either.”

Kizakura suddenly made a sound. It was an odd one, like a laugh, but carried the unmistakeable edge of relief.

“Sorry,” Kizakura said. “I had some ideas of what this may be about, but there would be no reason for him to be the upset over if it was about her . . .”

Kizakura leaned back and took a long swig from a flask.

“I do have a new idea, however,” Kizakura said. “I . . . I think the kid may be dead.”

The table stirred. Munakata’s brow creased. Given what little information they had, he could see where Kizakura was coming from. If he were honest, that was the best outcome. The death of the Ultimate Hope would undoubtfully bring despair to the world, but it couldn’t be more than Naegi Makoto could produce in a lifetime if he remained under Ultimate Despair’s control. No, better for him to be dead than a slave to despair.

“Perhaps this is why Kirigiri Kyoko has not joined us,” the Great Gozu said. “They may not have been able to resist the urge to spread despair, and informed her already.”

Munakata said nothing, letting Tengan agree for him. He knew the truth of course; Kirigiri Kyoko had been missing for a while. At least the very least, she had been gone since he had returned from his fruitless attempt to recover Naegi. Curious that she had disappeared during that time. . . and Ultimate Despair had ended up recapturing Naegi.

“We good to go? Finally. It’s hot up here,” Kuzuryu said, trying to play off the flush to his cheeks. However, now that Gekkougahara had suggested it, Munakata could tell that it was from emotion rather than the heat of spotlights.

Kuzuryu cleared his throat. “Alright. This is for the people on our side. Look, for the last week or so, I’ve been bombarded by whining and complaining that you guys ‘Don’t know what to do,’ or ‘We’re waiting for further instructions.’ Fuck, it was annoying. The truth is, Ultimate Despair’s been going through internal change. We’ve been busy and shit, that’s why we’ve ignored you. But hey, you guys want instructions? Well, you’re about to get your damn instructions. My first order is that if your pals aren’t around, you let them know what I said because this is fucking important.”

Kuzuryu straightened up. His palms lay flat against the podium as he breathed deeply. He seemed to be steeling his nerves, but for what?

“Okay, the second order. Take those helmets off.”

Izayoi choked on a sweet.

“Did he just . . .?” Kimaru’s question was so unthinkable that she trailed off halfway.

“Wh-what’s going on?” Mitarai asked.

Yukizome whispered, “What is he . . .?”

“Done yet? Good,” Kuzuryu said. “For those of you that no longer feel like obeying me now that those helmets are off. . . Well, fuck, do whatever the hell you want, I guess. The rest of you, listen up! Those helmets stay off. I don’t care who tells you to put ‘em back on. Smash them if you must. And then . . . go pet a puppy, or give water to the homeless or something. Just do whatever you have to to pull your asses out of despair. And for the rest of our cells who are probably sobbing all over the place right now, if you want to keep going, fine. But you’re on your own now.”

Kuzuryu stared straight into the camera. “As of this day, Ultimate Despair is officially disbanded.”

Kuzuryu walked off the stage, leaving a flurry of questions behind him. Munakata didn’t process any of them, frozen with shock. What was this? How did this benefit Ultimate Despair?

“This is a trap, right?” Ando demanded. “It can’t be anything else!”

 “The prowling lion needs no stars,” Bandai hummed.

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Ando snapped.

“There’s no way they would surrender like this,” Sakakura said, slamming a fist on the table.

“I agree,” Munakata said. “Yukizome, what do you make of this?”

“I-I . . . I don’t know,” she said. There was panic in her eyes that he couldn’t decipher.

“The only explanation is that they are trying to lower everyone’s guards,” Tengan said. “Why now, and for what are the questions we should focus on.”

“L-look. . .” Mitarai mumbled.

“I would suspect a global assault of some kind,” the Great Gozu said. “Perhaps they have once again gotten their hands on weapons of mass destruction.”

“Oh no,” Kimaru said. “Not again.”

“Guys, look at the screen,” Mitarai urged quietly.

“It’s unlikely they would have provided this warning if they were targeting us,” Munakata said. “It must be civilians.”

“Maybe they’re pissed off that Towa City isn’t building robots for them anymore.” Sakakura, elbow on the table, shrugged with one shoulder. “Good riddance.”

“Guys . . .”

Once again, Mitarai’s voice went unnoticed. It didn’t matter though, for at that moment, another voice rose from the thought-to-be-empty-stage. They all turned at once.

“Is that Kirigiri-san?” Kimaru asked.

“It could be the Imposter,” Kizakura said. “Though this person looks well-fed.”

Eyes turned to Munakata and Tengan. Munakata was silent, refusing to admit that he knew more then they.

“This is for those unaffiliated with Ultimate Despair,” Kirigiri said. “I understand that many of you are confused about these turns of events and the many rumours that have circulated in the last year. On behalf of my class and the Future Foundation, I extend my apologies. I ask that you forgive us for deceiving you.”

“Well, this doesn’t sound good,” Kizakura said. He sounded amused, but there was a telling stiffness to his spine.

“Most of are become aware that Naegi Makoto has been in the custody of Ultimate Despair for some time. You were told that he was captured and we were working to free him. This was a lie.”

“But that is what happened!” Kimaru said, voicing what they all must have been thinking: this was _bad_.

“The truth is . . .” Kirigiri closed her eyes for a moment. “This was the plan all along.”

What?

“Given Naegi Makoto’s talents and how he defeated Enoshima Junko, we decided he was capable of taking down Ultimate Despair from the inside. Naegi Makoto has, in fact, been an undercover agent for the Future Foundation during the entirety of his ‘capture.’ Again, we apologize for deceiving you and ask that you understand that we needed to maintain his cover. Naegi would also like to offer his apologies for what he was forced to say in front of these cameras; it was all necessary to keep his cover. The time for deception is over, however. Naegi Makoto has more than succeeded in his task, and the outcome is better than we dared hoped for.”

Kirigiri gave a small smile. “I request that you direct your questions towards the other officials of the Future Foundation. I’m afraid my friends and I will be temporarily leaving the Future Foundation so that we can ensure that the dismantling of Ultimate Despair proceeds smoothly. The Future Foundation thanks you for your faith.”

The screen went dark shortly after.

“What does that mean?” Ando demanded. “What’s going on?”

“. . . I don’t know,” Munakata said.

By the time the meeting ended, he still didn’t know. He didn’t know on the journey back to his office and when he sat down at his desk. An entire cup of coffee disappeared between his lips, and he still hadn’t worked out their angle. Kirigiri had been sneaking behind their backs with Ultimate Despair, that much was obvious. The most logical conclusion seemed to be that they were raising the world’s hope, only to dash it again in the future. Yet, how much of the public would fall for it? Kirigiri’s claim was already farfetched; all it would take was one sighting of a Monokuma soldier who had clearly not removed their helmet and the rouse would be exposed. What was her angle?

“Hey!”

Sakakura skidded to a stop in the open doorway. Hands on his knees, he panted.

The Ultimate Boxer said, “There’s something you need to see.”

Sakakura led him to the balcony overlooking the front entrance. They were not alone. Yukizome was there, along with Kizakura, Tengan and his bodyguard. They glanced briefly at the two newcomers as they entered, and then returned their stares to what lay in the yard. Munakata stepped forward and looked himself.

On the ground before them, in front of armed, baffled Future Foundation guards, a mass of people shuffled forwards. Those near the front had fallen to their knees with their arms behind their head. The ones behind tossed weapons aside and then followed suit. Scattered throughout the yard were the shiny metal of discarded Monokuma helmets.

 “What is this?” Munakata demanded.

Kizakura glanced at him. “I think they’re surrendering.”

He couldn’t speak.

Kizakura took a drink from his flask. “So, how should we handle this?”

* * *

“Glad that shit’s over with,” Kuzuryu muttered. He tossed his fedora aside and it fluttered onto the floor. “Hey, Peko . . . Peko?”

He looked around. He had left Peko backstage – he was sure of it! Where the hell did she go?

Back beyond the curtain, he could hear Kirigiri begin her speech. He didn’t listen; he wanted anything but to listen. The dumb story they’d come up with – that somehow, they’d snuck Naegi in as a double agent and he’d been too stupid to figure it out – strained his pride enough. Last thing he needed was to get it rubbed in. But where the hell was Peko?

Kamukura was here. Maybe the bastard could do something useful for once.

“Kamukura, do you know where Peko’s gone?”

“She’s been prepared for our departure.”

. . . The fuck did that mean? If Kuzuryu had learned anything during his upbringing, when people spoke in cryptic words, shit was about to go down.

“You are no longer an Ultimate Despair, Kuzuryu,” Kamukura said. “You are, however, still a psychopathic murderer with a hairline temper. Being trapped on a boat with you is not an ideal situation.”

Kuzuryu understood exactly where this was going. “You little fucker . . .!”

He knew Kamukura would be faster. He knew it was for naught. He drew his gun anyways and just as he predicted, Kamukura grabbed his wrist before he could aim. It was over quickly: an arm around the neck, a needle in the vein, and then Kuzuryu went limp.

“It’s done,” Kamukura said.

A door opened. Asahina and Hagakure walked inside.

“That’s all of them, right?” Asahina said. As she approached the fallen Yakuza, her face screwed up as if she wanted to spit on him.

“He is the last,” Kamukura said. He handed Kuzuryu to Hagakure for transportation. As the Clairvoyant passed through the doorway, Togami and Fukawa appeared. They squeezed past Hagakure and filed into the room.

“Has everything been taken care of?” Togami asked. Kamukura nodded in response.

Asahina slowly asked, “So, where’s Naegi-kun?”

Kamukura led them to him. They met Hagakure in the front entrance, surrounded by broken or deactivated robots. Soldiers wandered around, faces glazed over, mindlessly shuffling towards unknown destinations as they sought to fulfill Kuzuryu’s last orders. Kamukura looked at the yard where their fleet of vans waited.

“Is everyone inside?” Kamukura asked.

“Hmm? Oh, you mean the Despairs? Sure,” Hagakure said, “but the kids have vanished.”

Before Asahina could freak out, they heard footsteps coming towards them. Komaru and Yuta ran towards them, Komaru waving something over her head.

“S-sorry!” she gasped. “I needed to grab this.”

“That’s a stuffed animal,” Togami said.

“Makoto wanted it,” Komaru said. She slid the stuffed rabbit under her arm and against her body, as if worried Togami would take it away.

Asahina smiled softly. “That doesn’t even surprise me. Which one is he in?”

Hagakure pointed to one of the vans, the same one Komaru was already rushing towards. Asahina grinned, and started to break out into a run. But then Togami grabbed her shoulder. He gave her a shake of his head that she would have disobeyed, if it wasn’t for Kirigiri’s stern look in the background.

They could see Naegi when Komaru ripped open the backdoor. It wasn’t close enough for Asahina, but at least she could see him. Komaru said something as she held out the rabbit to him. Naegi, eyes turned downwards, shuffled forward.

With barely a word, he snatched the stuffed animal and then burrowed back into his blanket on the backseat.

Komaru stood there, as if waiting for something. Then, with a heavy sigh, she closed the door and returned to the group.

“. . . He knows the other Despairs are in the vehicles next to him and how they feel about you,” Kamukura said after Komaru rejoined the group. “He is not sure what is happening and can’t understand that they will never be a threat again. He thinks he is protecting you.”

“I know he doesn’t mean it,” Komaru said. “It still hurts.”

“Kirigiri-san, what about me. . .?” Asahina asked.

Kirigiri sighed. “You can try to see him if you wish, but be aware that Naegi-kun’s recent history of reactions to reunions is concerning.”

 _If_ she wished. Duh, obviously she did! She wasn’t stupid enough that she would have forced herself on him if Kirigiri thought it would hurt him, but since Kirigiri was leaving it up to her, it must be okay. She ran over to the van, followed by Hagakure. He must have already have gotten a chance to reunite with Naegi, but she wasn’t surprised he would want another one. Hagakure was an oaf, but a big, friendly one – like a giant dog! Behind them, Togami and Touko were readjusting their positions to see better. Hah! Did they think they were fooling anyone by pretending not to care?

Naegi’s eyes were closed when they opened the door. A blanket and Hagakure’s jacket lay wrapped around him. His eyes opened halfway when he heard them standing there and the steady up-and-down rhythm of his chest stilled. Man, she wanted to hold him. She wanted to squeeze and squeeze until there was nothing left. But in the week leading up to this rescue, Kirigiri had stressed over and over how Naegi was _hurt_ and they needed to be _gentle_. Inescapable hugs would have to wait for another day.

Naegi didn’t sit up. He watched them through lidded eyes. Asahina reached forward, put her hand on his ankle. He flinched and jerked it away silently. Afterwards, he laid perfectly still, like a fawn hiding from predators.

She understood Komaru in that moment. Although she had heard Kamukura’s explanation, although she knew he wasn’t trying to hurt them, although she knew he was confused and tired and drugged because they had slipped him something in a drink earlier to stop him from freaking out, it still hurt when he wouldn’t look at her.

Hagakure patted her back. Asahina took a deep breath, and mustered up the will to smile. This was okay. Naegi would come around soon enough. Then, everything would be okay.

“Let’s get moving,” Kamukura said.

While the others filed into their assigned vans, Kamukura took the front seat of the one holding Naegi. Kirigiri slipped into the passenger seat. Komaru hopped into the backseat, refusing to lose her hopeful smile even as her brother ignored her.

“It’ll take a couple of hours to reach the boat,” Kamukura said. “Then a few days to reach the island. The others are not going to be happy once they wake up.”

“We’ll deal with it,” Kirigiri said. “The hard part is over.”

Kamukura turned the key in the ignition.

A few minutes into their drive, a quiet voice spoke. “Are we going to the Future Foundation?”

“No,” Kirigiri said. “We’re going somewhere far away from everything.”

“. . . That sounds nice,” he whispered. She could see his muscles go slack as he finally surrendered to the drugs.

Komaru fell asleep not too long after. Kamukura checked the backseat to be sure of that, and then spoke. “He isn’t the same. Naegi will never be the same.”

“I don’t expect him to be,” Kirigiri said. “A lot can happen in a year. We aren’t exactly the same as he remembers us either.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. And you’re wrong,” Kirigiri said.

“You can’t say that,” he said. “You can’t know that.”

Kirigiri shrugged him off. “He’ll be fine.”

“How can you be certain?” he asked.

Kirigiri looked in the rear-view mirror at the slumbering Naegi siblings, at their joined hands. Her answer was so simple and yet made so much sense.

“Because I believe in him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I can't believe it's finally over. I legitimately thought this would be a 100k fic. Wow, I need to retake math or something.
> 
> If you managed to make it this far though, wow that's impressive. Especially those of you who have been here since the very first chapters! (NagitoHajimeChiakiFan, I don't know if you're the "NagitoFan" who posted on the prologue the second day this story started, but if you were, daaaaaang). I've had a great time torturing poor Naegi with you all. Thank you for all the wonderful comments and beautiful artwork and hilarious outakes/stories! :D :D :D :D :D
> 
> Some people have asked in the past what this story's endgame was. As you can see, the endgame I was building towards was never the redemption of all the Despairs or Naegi's fall. It was simply the end of Ultimate Despair as an organization. Buuut enough about that. I know what everyone wants to ask. So, let's talk about where things go from here.
> 
> I'm currently considering three stories. One's a short fic where Togami basically tries to force everyone in his class to work for him ~~not because he likes them or anything~~. One's a Kirigiri and Naegi-centric flat-out horror inspired by the Hope's Peak Church AU I saw, and one is indeed a sequel to this story. I am not leaning towards any story in particular at the moment.
> 
> If I were to write a sequel, there are some things that must be considered. The story’s focus would undoubtfully be focused on the treatment of the rest of the Despairs and Naegi. I have no education whatsoever in psychology or therapy so the realism would be questionable. There’s also no way I could ever maintain this update pace because of a) research I would need to do and b) it would be a slowburn fic. I’m sure everyone’s noticed that a lot happens in this story and it all happens **quickly**. That’s because I’m actually pretty bad at writing slow stories. I have a real problem with writing fluff or quiet “around the campfire” scenes because I get hit with writer’s block _very_ quickly.
> 
> So yeah, a sequel is definitely possible, but don’t expect it to reach the same standards as this one.
> 
>  
> 
> And pls don’t forget about the tropes page. It makes me happy inside


	111. Sequel and Art Index

Hello everyone! The first chapter of the sequel, _From the Ashes_ , has now been posted. I have also decided to make this page the index for current/future fanworks and such of this series so they're not so hard to hunt down. Without further ado, here you go!

Fanart:

No - Minor Spoilers:  
Passer-by: https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BxPkY_LzUwAzTXRhRm5mM0NCVDg/view?usp=drivesdk  
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BxPkY_LzUwAzMjRIS3hKcnJ3cXc/view?usp=drivesdk

Ozonne: https://imgur.com/lNYb7FT  
https://imgur.com/izl4PTu  
https://imgur.com/tnB9jOX

Theshe_wolf http://yui-kun23.deviantart.com/art/The-Lion-s-Den-Makoto-Naegi-life-643942277

 

Translations:  
Bachtuc (1st chapter + fanart, Vietnamese): https://bachtucblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/18/the-lions-den/  
Muhui (Chinese): Link not availible :(

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Parricidal Lovers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770897) by [Natsumiya_Teirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natsumiya_Teirin/pseuds/Natsumiya_Teirin)
  * [Ultimate Hope Meets Ultimate Despair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11673180) by [ElliotJR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliotJR/pseuds/ElliotJR)




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